


More Than Anyone Bargained For

by ABitNotGood (EggsyUnwin)



Series: The Stars Fight Against Us [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Everyone makes bad decisions, F/F, F/M, M/M, US election
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggsyUnwin/pseuds/ABitNotGood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton have balanced a successful relationship privately and publicly for three years now - surely they can deal with what comes next?</p><p>Alternatively: Washington's running for re-election and the past rears its head for Alex and John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't adorable like the first one. Be prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to In the Place to Be was completely unexpected and amazing thank you. So here's the sequel.
> 
> It will help to read ItBtP first, but if not: John and Alex are together whilst also working within the wonderful world of politics.

“Thank you all for coming. Your support is, as always, the thing that keeps us going,” Washington put his arm around Martha and smiled down at her whilst she smiled out at the crowd of campaign staff and cabinet members. “Without you, this would all be impossible. We’ve nearly finished our first term together. You've held America carefully in your capable hands for nearly four years. Let’s raise a glass to the hope of another four.”

There was a chorus of applause, undignified woop-ing, and a few more dignified calls of ‘here, here'.

Martha reached over and took the microphone from her husband who yielded it instantly. John almost laughed at how quickly the President deferred to his wife, but held it back lest Martha saw—Martha Washington was an amazing and formidable woman who John would die before getting on his bad side.

“I echo my husband's thanks. Now can we also take this moment to raise a glass to one of our own leaving us,” she looked over at John and raised her own glass. “I wouldn’t want to let go of this man for anything less than perfection. I feel like we’re losing a member of the family but I know you’re moving on to something brilliant that you’re born to do. You’ll do amazing things, don’t forget us, John.”

John ducked his head, hiding his blush and felt an arm sneak around his waist.

“You’re going to be the best damn civil rights lawyer this city’s ever seen,” Alex whispered.

“Shush you,” John laughed, keeping his own voice to a whisper. “You’re a little bit biased.”

“Me? Biased?” Alex put a hand to his heart. “How could you propose such a thing?”

John wanted to respond but Alex was pushing suddenly him up and towards the front of the room where Martha was beckoning him. Angelica Schuyler winked at him as he walked past and John gulped before nodding a quick reply. It had been three years but he was still a little in awe of the consummate intelligence of the Secretary of State.

The first term of Washington’s Administration had been one of the most successful and universally approved of in American history so democratic opponents in the re-election campaign were few and far between. The people seemed to think the man could do no wrong and were in love with the stoically serious yet constantly empathetic President and his inimitable First Lady.

And John had been a part of that, as aide to the President, working in the White House with the President’s other staff. There had been some seriously precarious moments when it felt like the whole country would fall apart, but together, the cabinet and the staff had held it together with the public often none the wiser. If Washington was the swan, then they were the frantic feet peddling underneath; if the public knew how hard they were working then they were doing their jobs wrong.

It was a tiring job, and often a seemingly unrewarding one, but one John would not go back and change for the whole world.

Having frequent meetings with cabinet members including one Alexander Hamilton was just a bonus.

But John hadn’t bet on re-election. Of course it made sense. Washington was loved and a second term would only secure the country's stability more firmly. He needed to remain President, and he needed to keep the same people around him, including Angelica and Alexander. John had contemplated staying—but then Eliza had offered him the job.

Her law firm was flourishing, and it was _helping_ people, and she wanted John to help her. It was what he’d always wanted to do and always believed he would never be able to. It was what his father had said was impossible.

A lawyer with a conscience and an actual pay check? There was really no question: John had handed in his resignation the next day.

Once he reached the front, Martha handed him the microphone with a pat to his wrist. John fumbled his way through a goodbye speech that was obviously either a lot more impressive than he thought, or everyone was just emphatically sad to see him go. By the end of his somewhat garbled sentences of thanks and goodbye, the Chief of Staff was sniffling and even Angelica seemed to be holding back some emotion.

Martha gave him a heartfelt hug and Washington gave him a firm pat on the back.

“Well done,” Washington said. “We’ll miss having you on side, son. You’re a good man, John.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m grateful glad I hired you. You’ve done yourself very proud.”

John was glad the President didn’t mention his father, as he had worried for a second he might, and nodded his genuine thanks, accepting Washington’s words.

Washington cleared his throat once. “Alex is a very lucky man.”

Martha laughed heartily. “He is _indeed,_ " she said, causing her husband to cough and turn away. "Don’t be a stranger, John.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” John reassured her, feeling a little dazed and pretending he hadn’t noticed Washington’s rising blush.

Alex and Angelica saved him from having to navigate his way out of the Washington’s web of conversation by appearing beside him, coats in hand.

“It’s been a wonderful afternoon, George,” said Angelica.

“And a beautiful speech for John, Martha,” Alex added. “But if you’ll excuse us—”

“We need to steal little Jack here away.”

Alex flinched for him at Angelica’s words, and glared at her, knowing all too well the name's weight. _Jack_ , _you can do better than that_. _Jack, you know what we expect of you. Jack, you should be setting an example not squandering your life away_.

John tried to push his father’s voice out of his memory. Jack was a family nickname, a thing that should be harmless, a thing Angelica couldn’t have known about—and a thing that John wouldn’t let affect him today. He had finally achieved what Henry Laurens claimed was impossible. Today wasn’t a day for faulting his past self, it was a day for congratulating himself, and taking a deep breath of relief that he got here. That he made it.

Alex’s eyes met his. When they first started dating—actually dating, after their tentative beginnings, their false starts, and the snow muddled confessions—John had thought it was impossible to stare into Alexander Hamilton’s eyes for too long; it would be too intense. The intensity had never lessened, but now it was breath-taking. The full force of Alex’s gaze focused solely on John considering, checking, calming him down.

They’d been here for three years now, and it felt both exactly the same and completely unfamiliar every day. Things were changing, yes, but there were some things that wouldn’t change. Whatever arose, Alex and he would be able to get through it together, there was nothing the world could throw at them that they couldn’t handle. John was sure of it. Whatever happened in his life now would be fine, because Alex was in it.

“Thank you again, Mr President, Mrs Washington, but we’re going to have to take John with us right now. We have a wedding to get to.”

 

* * *

 

Alex pulled into his office on the way to the church. “I won’t be five minutes. I just need to pick some things up that I couldn’t get before the speeches.” He leaned over and kissed John lightly. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

“Nah, I’ll come with you. We shouldn’t have started on the champagne that early. I need the air.”

The office was empty—as one would expect at lunchtime on a Saturday—except for a woman standing over Alex’s desk.

“Any reason you’re still here, Ms Lewis?”

“Hi boss,” Alex's assistant Maria offered Alex a red-lipped smile. “I thought I’d pick up some work for the weekend. It’s Susan’s birthday party and James is away at work for the weekend. I won’t have a chance to check my laptop with the three year olds everywhere. And it’s still Reynolds, Mr Secretary.”

“Do people still change their names in this day and age?” Alex asked flinging his briefcase down onto the other side of the desk and picking up what seemed like a varied assortment of files. John never questioned his filing system. At least Alex seemed to understand it. And his personal assistant apparently did as well.

“Fine. I’ll concede you took his name. Ms Maria Reynolds then. It suits you.” Alex was prattling, the words coming out without him so much as looking up or acknowledging either Maria or John as he scanned through five pages in as many seconds.

“That’s Mrs,” Maria laughed, “thank you very much.”

“Wishful thinking,” Alex winked.

“Right here,” John reminded him. Alex dragged himself away from the papers, closing the briefcase, turning around to face John.

“How does Mrs Alex Hamilton sound?”

“Like you’re pushing your luck.”

Alex turned to Maria and shrugged with a _worth a try_ sort of smile. She didn’t seem to notice though, her lips were pursed and she had an odd look on her face, looking at Alex. Maria was gorgeous, young, and the sort of person John wanted to warn off of politics for her own sake.

John decided they were probably freaking the poor girl out and took mercy on her, pushing Alex lightly away from the desk.

“He needs to take the weekend off, and so do you. You two should both be on holiday, you’re encouraging each other’s bad habits.”

“Everyone needs a break sometimes,” Maria's voice sounded out the words as if they were a secret, still looking at Alex. “I guess I'll see you on Monday then, Boss.”

John tried to decipher the look on her face but then Alex had his briefcase in one hand and John’s hand in the other, and was dragging him towards the door.

John couldn’t stop puzzling over Maria Reynolds on the short drive back to the church. She had still had the odd look on her face as she waved goodbye to them; there had been something a little too knowing in her eyes. He would have to ask Alex tomorrow. But as Alex led him grinning into the service there was no time for such considerations: John’s mind was pulled in a different, more agreeable direction.

 

* * *

 

John decided, as the final speech wrapped up at the reception, that Eliza and Hercules’ Schuyler-Mulligan’s relationship was the sort of thing they made Disney movies about.

Senator Phillip Schuyler was openly crying and his youngest daughter Peggy was laughing at him whilst simultaneously trying to comfort him. Eliza had just finished her speech and Hercules was holding her hand, rendered speechless.

“They’re nauseatingly domestic, aren’t they?” Alex said in his ear.

“I can’t believe families like this actually exist,” John replied. “There's hope for our asses after all. Angelica actually gave Herc the shovel talk in her speech.”

“Hercules and his parents went to brunch with all the Schuylers at Beuchert’s Saloon yesterday,” Lafayette interjected, leaning across the table. “They had bottomless prosecco and did not invite me. I am the Best Man, _how_ did I not get invited? I am not sure if I can support this union anymore.”

“Laf, you just made the most emotional Best Man speech I’ve ever heard. You’re more emotionally invested in this marriage than they are.”

Lafayette shrugged. “I am French. I am excused when it comes to enthusiasm about love.”

“You’re so full of…” Alex shook his head and muttered something that sounded remarkably like _mierda_ under his breath.

The music started for the first dance and Eliza drifted onto the floor in a swish of light blue silk and layered skirts, leading Hercules into the start of the dance. The couple laughed, managing not to fall, as she led him through the first few steps, Hercules gladly following and stepping backwards in time with her.

“My new boss is amazing,” John grinned.

“Yes, yes, they’re adorable,” Alex agreed. “Let's have another round. When does the bar open again?”

“It is already open mes amis.”

John jumped up and tried to get in front of Alex as he rushed up. When they finally reached the bar, they found Lafayette already there, being handed a cloudy martini glass. Lafayette raised an eyebrow in a mocking toast.

An hour—or two? It was hard to tell at this point and John had left his phone in his jacket pocket before the reception—later, John picked up another fresh pint from the bar. He returned to their table through a meandering route around a dancing melee of politicians and society sorts, as they wined and dined. John found Alex goading the new groom whilst Lafayette whisked Peggy Schuyler around the dance floor.

“Congratulations,” John shouted in Hercules’ ear and was rewarded with a huge grin and a thumbs up.

John leaned down and kissed Alex on the forehead. “Hi,” he smiled around the single syllable, not sure if Alex could even hear him over the music. He bent his head down and tried to make his eyes level with Alex, whilst Alex was still sat down.

Alex half frowned, a small laugh escaping him. Hercules chuckled beside them. John was still smiling at Alex though, looking again at his wide dark eyes. Shit, he was adorable in his suit.

“Thank you,” color rose in Alex’s cheeks quickly, “you look adorable too.”

“This is my wedding, I’m supposed to be the one being insufferably cute,” Hercules groaned without any real menace.

“I said that out loud?” John asked.

Alex laughed and pointed at John’s pint. “Haven’t you already had two of those?”

“Yeah,” John grinned before kissing Alex again, lightly, “but I’m working on three.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re good, aren’t we?” John asked an hour—or three? Time wasn't being obedient today—later. His need to know the answer was urgent but heard his voice come out slower, groggier, and less intensely than intended. That wouldn’t do—Alex needed to know that this mattered—three years was a long time—and weddings always brought out the most urgent in people—and everything was changing—and John just wanted them to stay the same.

Alex was smiling down at him though and he looked beautiful from this new, different angle so John quickly forgot whatever it was he had needed to say. The words he'd intended were lost in a haze of alcohol, tiredness, and a wave of contentedness.

“We are amazingly good,” Alex reassured him. “But—right now you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“No,” John waved the words away, “no, I know, no. Yeah. Yeah, but—as long as we’re good?”

Alex was still in his groomsman's tux but had put on his now-worn turtle slippers from their first Valentine's Day. Alex knelt down next to John’s side of the bed where John was already sprawled out and lightly kissed him on the forehead. “John Laurens, we are spectacular.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shook his head. "Okay, Burr is the scum of the earth and would make the worst veep in history. Not that he’ll ever get the chance to because GWash will trounce both Jefferson and Burr and become the only ever unanimously elected president. Better?”
> 
> “Much better, thanks. And stop calling the President GWash."

As the caucuses concluded and the proper campaigns started in earnest, it became clear Jefferson would be the Republican nominee.

John had seen this coming and resigned himself to it six months back, as seemingly had Washington, whose frustration bubbled under the surface but managed to not spill over. Alex on the other hand had a fit.

Everyone assumed that Jefferson would waste no time in announcing James Madison as his running mate, and John was worried about how Alex might react. The history there was something John still found uncomfortable and inconceivable in equal parts but he was willing to talk about it—Alex on the other hand seemed to take everything Madison did as a Republican as a personal slight, and refused to acknowledge that he had had any relationship with that “mad hatter of a traitor”.

The problem came when Jefferson didn’t announce Madison as the veep for his ticket. He chose Burr.

After the announcement Alex apparently shut down a little. Washington sent him home early and John greeted his righteous fury with hot chocolate at the door.

“Would’ve been two Virginians if he chose Mads,” John pointed out. “Wouldn’t have worked. Don’t know why we didn’t think of that. It’s bad enough they’ll be campaigning against Washington on his home turf.”

“Washington will be fine. Jefferson will hang himself if we give him enough rope,” Alex said, with such confidence that it veered away from optimism and into wishful thinking. “I think there’s someone I hate more than Jefferson now.”

“You've got to admit, it's not a terrible plan—Jefferson might even win over New York state now. Burr’s a sensible choice.”

“Burr is the scum of the earth,” Alex hissed.

John held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not defending him.”

“You sounded like you were."

John shook his head. "Okay, Burr is the scum of the earth and would make the worst veep in history. Not that he’ll ever get the chance to because GWash will trounce Jefferson _and_ Burr and become the only ever unanimously elected president. Better?”

“Much better, thanks. I mean, I know it’s not possible he’ll win _unanimously twice,_ but thank you for humoring me. And stop calling the President GWash.”

“Never.”

It was bad enough Jefferson had gone with Burr, but—the TV playing in the background reminded them—Washington had announced his running mate today as well, and had once again gone with John Adams.

“Why not you or Angelica?” John threw a walnut at the TV as it announced the banal news.

“Angelica doesn't want it.”

“And you?”

“I can’t want it.”

When John realized Alex wasn’t going to follow that up with anything—Alex was glaring at the TV with a look of puppy dog sadness and gallows resignation—he reached for the remote and switched it off, turning to his Alex.

“Why the hell not?”

“Little thing called the Natural Born Citizen clause in the Bill of Rights."

"Oh, _shit_. That's—” John floundered. He knew bits and pieces about Alex’s past now—he knew there had been a storm which was where the fear came from, he knew his mother had died, and thought Alex might’ve had a brother with him when he came to the States, but Alex didn’t talk about it enough for him to be sure, and he didn’t want to just ask. But Alex had been here—decades? Tentatively, at least ninety nine percent sure he was right, John said: “But you are a citizen."

Some emotion flitted across Alex's face but he hid it. "Not a ‘natural born’ one though, apparently Nevis doesn’t count. Whoever wrote the Bill of Rights really wanted to screw me over. Cabinet’s as far as I’m getting. The Prez and the veep jobs are out of my reach. It's ironic, if I'd been alive at the time the Bill of Rights was written I would've been eligible - natural born _or_ any current citizens. Guess I was just born too late."

"Oh yeah, slavery, racism, sexism, and homophobia. You’d’ve been _fine_ two centuries ago."

“I would’ve _ended_ slavery.”

John reached out and took Alex’s hand.

“With your help of course,” Alex added. “We could’ve done so much back then.”

John scooted a little closer to Alex. “We couldn’t’ve done this,” he whispered, kissing him and pushing him backwards onto the couch. Alex hmmed his agreement, sinking down into the kiss, and the presidency and dreams of saving the country were effectively put on hold for the night.

 

* * *

 

Alex helped him move into his new office at the firm; two rooms, an office going out onto a hallway with a joint PA between him and Eliza, and an adjoining meeting room. It was far larger than he’d expected having seen the salary Eliza was offering him, and when he asked her she quickly deflected the conversation.

“You’re going to be one of the main lawyers on our books, John. I’m heading it up, we’re got the volunteers. But no matter how much family money and money of my own I put behind this thing I can’t make it into something it's not without people who are willing to stand up for causes,” she nudged him. “That’s where you come in if you hadn’t noticed. The office is to make up for the tiny salary.”

“The salary’s not tiny,” Alex butted it.

“You should’ve seen what I was earning in New York,” John didn’t understand the annoyance in Alex’s tone. It wasn’t like Cabinet ministers were on minimum wage.

Alex grimaced. “I’d rather not. Eliza, thanks for this—I mean, Ms Schuyler-Mulligan.”

Eliza twirled the wedding band around her finger, looking at it a bit in awe. “It’s hard to believe,” she admitted then looked up at them and, in a conspiratorial whisper, as if admitting sins at confession, “I feel like I’ve got everything I ever wanted.”

“Yeah,” John turned to look at Alex. “I know the feeling.”

One of the interns popped their head around the door, “Mr Laurens, there’s a call from South Carolina.”

“ _Great_. Must’ve heard about the job swap. It’ll be Henry Laurens. I’ll call him back later.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a Martha Laurens?”

“Your sister?” Alex turned to him. He was precariously balancing the box he was carrying through to the meeting room and his eyebrows creased.

“Yeah. Shit—yeah, okay, I’ll take it now. Put it through,” he picked up the office receiver and tried to steady his breathing.

“Martha?”

“ _Jack_ ,” he heard his oldest sister’s voice for the first time in half a year. It was ragged as if she’d been retching all morning, or not slept in a week, but it was her. An overwhelming sense of _home, past, lost, disjoint_ came over him and he wanted to be having this conversation somewhere else, when he was more settled, and successful, and Alex was holding him. Or maybe alone, with a steel backbone, and a warm southern breeze. “I—I got your work number from the reception, I called the White House first. It all’d’ve been easier if you just picked up your mobile. I’m sorry to call y’all at work, but— _you need to come home.”_

“Martha, what?” _I am home_ , he wanted to say. “Is everything okay? Are you alright? Is it the boys—what happened? Is Mary okay?”

“It’s not us, Jack. It’s Father.”

John’s throat went dry, and the receiver suddenly felt as heavy as iron in his hand. He was already calculating how quickly he could get to South Carolina from D.C. and if Eliza would be able to get him off charges of patricide. “What’s he done? Do you need help?”

Alex’s voice shouted through to him from the adjoining meeting room. “John, you’ve got to see this.” Alex poked his head around the door all wild energy, wild hair, tense posture, and eyes carefully caged against showing anything. It was Alex’s battle face, his blank slate for reporters—his stress reaction.

But then Martha was speaking again and John’s world came crashing down, as everything simultaneously suddenly came together. Alex left the door open behind him and John could see the new flat screen with the rolling news headline.

“He’s not _done_ anything,” his sister said. “He had a heart attack.”

 _Senator Henry Laurens found dead in South Carolina home_ said the breaking news smugly in large bold letters, as if it were the first to know.

“He’s gone, Jack. Father’s dead.”

 

* * *

 

Martha had a husband and children and couldn't arrange anything without John because Henry had named him the Executor of his Will. There wasn't much time. The press found out too soon and the news cycle was awash with rumors and stories. The Republicans were already jumping on it, lamenting the loss of one of their own. Jefferson made a statement saying he would be at the funeral and that Henry Laurens' family were in his heart and prayers.

John called bullshit but decide punching the Republican nominee would not be in his or Alex's career's best interests.

So John had to go home and he didn't even have the time to regret it. To mourn. To consider if he wanted to mourn. Didn't have the time to think.

“My flight leaves tonight." John took a deep breath, steeled himself and tried to ask: "I know you're busy, I know your work's important—”

“Thank you. I know it's shit and I should come. You know I'd be right there with you if it were any other time, but I’ve got so much on my plate. I'm substitute campaign manager right now...I'll try and be down for the actual funeral.”

“Tuesday night?”

“Yeah, I can erm—actually, shit—wait, no, John, don't look like that, I can rearrange.”

“What is it?”

“Just a small meeting, I can move it.”

“With who?”

Alex’s cheek’s flushed slightly. “Washington?”

John wouldn’t change Alex for anything, but sometimes he wanted to shake the man’s priorities and realign them with the rest of the world’s. Or at least with John’s.

“Stay, Alex. But look after yourself I don't want to come back to you falling apart.”

“Thank you, I know I can be useless sometimes. Shit. I hate this. I know I should be there with you for this—that’s what partners are meant to do. Eliza wouldn’t make Hercules face this alone. This is the man who terrorized your childhood and I should be there to give him...”

“If you want to come just to cause a scene or a fight then please don’t come.” John tried to keep calm as his said it, keeping his breathing level. “If you want to come for me, then do. But don’t come because you want to give my father one last fuck you. He’s dead—I don’t need you to save me from him.”

The “save me” was too acidic, cutting through the calm tone of the rest of his words.

“I never think you need saving, John,” Alex said, carefully, lowering his voice. “Families can be dysfunctional. Neither of us are the poster boy for happy families. I didn’t know my father—I write to him and get no reply. Yours calls you and we run—ran—for cover worried from whatever press scandal he’d release next. But he was still your father. I chased after that ideal for longer than was healthy so don’t disregard it because it _must_ mean something. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling and am trying to not do you the disservice of trying to imagine. But that means you’re gonna have to help me out here. ”

John wanted to be mad at Alex, he wanted to shout and scream that this wasn’t about comparisons and that the problem was he didn’t feel anything. But this was Alex, his best friend, and his boyfriend. So; he sat down behind his new desk— _John Laurens, attorney at law. Civil rights and Pro Bono work accepted._

“I feel like shit. But I also feel elated, which just makes me feel more shit. Because Martha’s breaking down and Mary’s only twenty and needs someone and I can say I’ll help, but I know I have no intention of being that someone because I can’t stomach staying down there and selfishly don’t want to give up what I’ve got here. And that makes me the most selfish son in the world—and even worse it makes _him_ right. Because he said I was a screw up who wouldn't help the family. And I am and now he’s not even here for me to blame for it. The fault’s all mine. So you being there with me would be nice as a calming hand, but—and Alex, fuck, I appreciate this, and everything you say and your opinions, but I can’t be worried that you’re going to insult my father to my grieving siblings whilst I’m preoccupied planning to funeral for the man I hate. So maybe it’s best you stay here.”

Alex’s press face was back on. It had taken Alex longer than most to learn it—even when John met him, he was still a novice at hiding his emotions. Alex had molded it into an uncomfortable, but workable cool blank faced stare over the last three years. Alex was proud he’d finally mastered cloaking something of himself to the public eye. John hated when Alex used the face.

"Look, I won't need you, I'll have my siblings there. I can see them easier now. Don't worry. I love you."

The last three words were delivered after a pause, with a momentous note behind them as if they were still new. In a way they were. Alexander and John had been saying them for over a year, but neither had had many opportunities to say them before this relationship. John understood when other people, like the Schuylers, threw the words around sincerely but simply, to each of their sisters, to their partners, and to Lafayette, John, and Alex, but John didn’t think he’d ever be able to do that.

For him, every time he said the words it was handing a sword to someone and standing waiting to see if they’d swing it. He trusted Alex with those words, and every time he said them it was a reaffirmation of that trust.

"Be back soon, okay? I love you too."

John let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Alex trusted him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Washington IS the only president to ever be elected unanimously, yay George!) 
> 
> Next chapter, we see what Alex is up to...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander struggles in the wake of John's departure for South Carolina, and makes bad decisions. (Strangely, calling Burr for what is definitely NOT a booty call is not the worst decision he makes this chapter.)

Alex got back from dropping John at the airport three minutes ago and already missed him. He wanted to rewind and get on the plane with John, to promise that he wouldn’t stir any shit or make it harder, he just wanted be there for him.

But it would be easier for John this way—Alex knew himself well enough to know he excelled at making bad situations worse.

Now would be a good time to call Hercules but he was busy with Eliza and if Alex texted Lafayette anything about John then the man himself would probably know within a minute. For a moment, Alex even considered calling Angelica: but the press would have a field day if they found out the Treasury Secretary texted the Secretary of State because he was missing his boyfriend. Washington would be seen as irresponsible and they would all be irreverently dragged through an unneeded, childish press cycle…

Sometimes it was easier to just not talk to other people.

Alex had spent so much of his life isolating himself with the promise that it would all change when got to the top to not notice the irony in that thought.

All his life he’d wanted to have a group of friends but had been too busy working harder, doing all he could to get farther and closer to where he wanted—needed—to be. A habitual loneliness was not something anyone would seek out. For those years in between, when he didn’t really have anyone, it had eaten away at him. Always, Alex reminded himself throughout school, it wasn’t anything to do with him, and it was just because he was too focused. This was the only way to get ahead—there would be time for friends when he’d made something of himself—and now he had “made something” of himself, hadn’t he? Sure, he had. He had to have.

This was as far as he could go. He’d never be President until Washington fought against the Bill of Rights for him—and it was more likely that Britain would recolonize American than that congress would vote to overturn any sacred work of the founding fathers.

Alexander Hamilton was not a household name, but he was known in the right networks, and had sway in the needed circles. He had made it, and somehow he’d landed John in the process.

Even Alex couldn’t have written a better ending. John Laurens was the type of person who would seem unbelievable even in fiction. It made no sense why he’d stayed with Alex this long, but Alex would cling to it whilst he could.

Surely, sooner or later, he’d prove the naysayers right and John would realize Alex wasn’t worth it.

Better to enjoy the time he had.

He was getting melancholic and knew Washington would be mad if he started a twitter war with Jefferson or Madison so instead he reached for his phone and dialled and scrolled down his favorites.

Yes, Aaron Burr was still on his favorites call list, but Alex _had_ moved him to the very bottom and that somehow felt like punishment enough. He was underneath John Adams now. That had to mean something.

“Mr Burr, sir.”

“Alexander?” Burr’s voice wrong through, a little static riddled as if he were an ocean away rather than in his own apartment only a block away.

“Are you alone?”

“No.” There was a sound of a door being closed before Burr spoke again. “Is this… a campaign matter?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I doesn’t have to be about the campaign for me to talk to you, Burr.”

“Of course, Alexander… I’m guessing this isn’t a congratulations call, so what’s this about? Is everything OK with Washington?”

“It’s about—” Alex huffed. “You know what, never mind, I can talk to you next time I see you.”

“No, Alex, wait for—”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this sorted.”

“Alright, I’m sure I’ll see you Tuesday if not before. Also, I—appreciate you calling still, I’m glad my running with candidate Jefferson hasn’t soured anything between us.”

“Oh no, things between us are so soured they’ve grown colonies.”

“That’s…disgusting.”

“That’s how I feel about you right now.”

There was a deep breath from the other man and Alex thought back over what he’d said and seriously hoped this line wasn’t bugged. Sadly, that was a thought Alex often had when on the phone with a lot of politicians.

“Did you call me just to insult me, Alexander? I understand this must be a stressful time. Tell Laurens I’m very sorry for his loss. As I said, I’ll be there Tuesday to pay my respects.”

“Don’t assume you know shit about how John’s feeling. And Tuesday?” Alex frowned, a connection flooding back into his mind, but Burr’s words didn’t make sense. Also, hearing Burr talk about _Laurens_ as if John would be traditionally grieving his father’s death.

“I know their relationship was tense, but you and I know better than most what losing a parent can do.”

“It’s _nothing_ alike,” Alex said quickly. It was a low blow on Burr’s part and one he wouldn’t usually pull out. Alex had been overeager when he met Burr and told him everything in a rushed night of confession. Hell, Burr probably knew more about Alex’s mother than John did.

“That was hell because we lost people we loved. This is different for John.”

“Now who’s assuming they know about Laurens’ feelings. And Tuesday is the funeral, I get you two might have forgotten that. I assume you’re already down in South Carolina.”

Alex fell silent.

“Are you…not in South Carolina? Jefferson said Laurens was going today—”

Alex couldn’t hear how Jefferson knew more about John than he did, and he definitely wasn’t up for his relationship choices being judged by Aaron Burr.

“Goodbye Burr,” he said, not even adding the customary _sir_ before hanging up.

 

* * *

 

Alex did not have it sorted. In fact, six hours since he said goodbye to John at customs, Alex realized he was already close to falling apart. Far too close. This wasn’t right, he should be able to cope without John for a weekend without feeling like his world was ending, or he was ending John’s—right?

Maybe it was everything building up with the campaign, the announcement of the running mates, and Hercules and Eliza’s _wedding—_ his friends clearly moving onto the next stage. It felt like everything and everyone was moving forwards and Alex was stuck for the first time in his life with nowhere to surge onto next. And John was having to go side wise and run circles, looping back round to him to help him to keep up. John wouldn’t let Alex hold him back, but he would always _choose_ to hold himself back it seemed, to fit in line with Alex.

It wasn’t right. HE couldn’t deal with this. John was—John was someone who deserved someone better than Alex. But Alex was all he had right now, especially now he’d lost Henry however shit he may have been, and so Alex had to step up, he had to do something.

Too late, he concluded that he should’ve gone with John.

Alex stumbled into his office after dark. He was looking for a distraction, a break, and another ten hours of work to fill the time before he was meant to be here in the morning. What he found was unexpected, but transposable to his original plan.

The lights were off, everyone else had left the building, and Maria was in the corner, bent over her desk and shaking.

“Anything I can do to help, Ms Lewis?” he took a tentative step into the room, talking lightly.

He aimed for a teasing tone but she gasped and looked up quickly at his sudden arrival.

“Boss, I didn’t know you’d still be in.”

“Maria—”

“Sorry, thought I’d work late to get it all finished, everyone likes a free weekend—”

“ _Maria_ —”

“I’m sorry, that’s insensitive, and you’re probably missing Mr Laurens with him being away—”

“ _Maria_ , who did that to you?”

The lights were off but his eyes had adjusted enough to see the purpling green bruising around her left eye.

With a little gasp, she quickly moved around the desk and walked towards him, taking one of his hands in hers. She was shaking—no, no that wasn’t it—she was frowning at him through a cut lip and standing perfectly still now. It was him who was shaking.

“What can I do?” he asked, begged nearly. Because there had to be something. This wasn’t an accident—it wasn’t walking into a door, or slamming the car door, he knew what this was, he’d seen this before—

“Do you promise not to tell a soul, Boss?” her voice was lighter than he’d ever heard it.

Maria was useful as his assistant for a reason. When Maria Reynolds talked usually it was like a proclamation shouted to an army, or a name from a coffee cup shouted over the rabble of Starbucks: it made sure it was heard. Right now, it sounded like her voice would rather people didn’t know it was there.

“Do you promise?” she repeated. “I’m not going to do anything about it, and don’t try and convince me otherwise but I’ll talk to you if it makes you calm down and stop floundering around.”

“Maria, you’re scaring me. If someone did this to you then you need to—”

“It was James. Now calm down.”

Alex wanted to scream, to break James Reynolds’ neck, or maybe to help Maria to, but she was standing so firmly, shoulders back ready to rebuke him. It guilted him into straightening his posture, calming his breathing, and trying to think rationally.

“What can I do to help?”

“Act normal and stop shaking?”

He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their tremors. It was too painful to think about, and yet Maria still seemed in complete control as if this were something commonplace, as if he were the abnormality in this situation to her. Which, he realized with a sickening stomach, he probably was.

It didn’t help that her fucker of a husband was called James either. Of all the names.

“John’s a lawyer, he can help you—or someone else could if you don’t want to talk to him about it,” he added, seeing the deepening of her frown.

“I have a daughter.”

“Susan.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes widening in pleased surprise.

Alex suddenly felt even worse. Maria, who knew everything about his few friends, and his relationship, who asked after John each weekend, she was happily shocked that he even knew the name of her daughter.

_Help her._

Alex was a disaster of a boss.

“I’m a shit boss,” he said.

“Let’s not make this about how good a boss you are, Boss.”

“Sorry. Shit. I’m really sorry. Maria—you probably don’t want to talk to me about this, but I could get Angelica—she’s probably still here somewhere—or call my friend Eliza, she’s a lawyer, she could advice you about what to do—”

“What I need to _do_ is go back and not tell you anything. And what makes you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you about this? I’m talking to you now freely.”

“Maria—”

“Alex. Please. Don’t make this awkward. Just—buy me a drink? Make me forget I just pushed all my problems at your feet?”

“I don’t think we should go and get a drink together around here,” _where anyone could see_. It could send the wrong message. He tried to make his expression look apologetic and nothing else. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“ _Yes_. And for that comment, you owe me too. Do you have a bar at yours?”

“This isn’t the 1950s.”

“Oh, really? Where’s our female President?”

“We have a black President? And a black female Secretary of State?”

“Fine. I’ll let the twenty-first century off. But I’m not letting you off with those drinks, it’s Friday night. If you don’t have a bar, it’s alright, I’ve got one. James is away for the weekend. Want me to drive or will you meet me there?”

“Maria…”

“Susan’s with James. Please don’t make me go back alone.”

The pleading in her eyes overruled his better judgement and he found himself sat in the passenger seat as she made idle talk about work.

When they got inside she waltzed to the corner and started work on a complex mix of drinks. She walked back over slower, kicking off her heels that he hadn’t even noticed she was wearing. She was a lot shorter than even him like this. As she handed him the frosted martini glass he noticed the clock behind her head.

“It’s later than I thought. I can’t drink this if I need to drive home. Maria, please let me tell someone what you’ve told me—”

“No,” she snapped, her own glass quaking as her hand shook a little. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

“At least think about it? Maria, I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go—”

She looked down into her glass and breathed into it, blowing bubbles on the surface of the cocktail. It was such a childlike gesture, but somehow the alcohol and the dark look in her eyes when she finally looked up, meeting his gaze fiercely, transformed it into something different.

She took his glass off him carefully, and stepped towards him, reaching around to set them on the table right behind them. She straightened up and was suddenly only inches from him, her eyes communicating something that his brain had not yet processed.

“Stay,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander realizes he messed up and decides honesty is the best policy so flies to South Carolina. Everything doesn't go exactly to plan.

“This is John Laurens, sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you asap.”

“John, it’s me, I—also, serious, who _says_ asap—but, that’s not—look, I know you must be busy. I’m sorry I didn’t call last night—I was busy. I’m here now. Please let me know how you are. I—miss you. I love you.”

Alex hung up with a heavy resignation, his headache pounding away behind his eyes. Today would have to be a glasses day if he expected to get any work done. And working seemed like the best idea now, a good distraction from the last twenty-four hours. Maybe another drink. That would be a bad decision though and might not help the headache. He'd made enough bad decisions.

Fortune must favor the cowards as well as the brave because it sent him a lifeline in the form of his vibrating phone. He picked it up too quickly, too thankful.

“John,” he said immediately. “I miss you so much.”

“ _Dude_ , you’re a politician. Check your caller ID, anyone could be calling you.”

“Herc.”

“Alex. So, I guess you’re waiting on a call from John? Has he forgiven you for not going with him to SC?”

Alex wanted to protest that wasn't what he needed forgiveness for but decided to just defer to the oracle of knowledge and common sense that was Hercules Mulligan.

“He hasn’t said he’s upset about it, but I figured out he probably is. And that I should’ve gone with him.”

“All on your own and only a day late, that's not enough time for even you to screw up.”

Alex flinched whilst Mulligan laughed. Alex thanked everything that Mulligan couldn’t see him. Maybe he should’ve had the drink.

“Hey, man, do you want me to come round?”

Mulligan’s voice sounded oddly caring; Alex had obviously been silent for far too long. He felt a sudden urge to just _talk_ to Hercules and to tell him everything that was swirling around in his head.

“You wanna talk?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Why do I want to talk?”

“Huh?”

“I mean—Herc you’re amazing, but I usually don’t feel the urge to spill every little thing to you. I think I’m losing my self control.”

“Don’t think you had much of that to begin with. But, if you want my two cents? You aren’t going mad. Just you usually have a human sounding board living with you who you get all your excess honesty out on before you get to talk to any press.”

“John,” Alex breathed.

“Yeah, John, best boyfriend in the freaking world, Eliza’s new favorite lawyer who she keeps texting every hour to ask if he’s OK because she’s so worried, bless her.”

Showing the pathetic mess of emotions he’d become, all Alex managed to say was: “Is he texting her back?”

“Not this morning, he sent a goodnight one last night. Seriously, what’s wrong, Ham? Is he not talking to you? That’s bad. John always talks to you. Or well, huh, you talk to him.”

Wasn’t that that truth.

John _didn’t_ always talk to him about his issues; often Alex would see them brewing under the surface in glimpses and flashes that John would smile away, throwing a pillow at him and telling him to not mother him. Whereas Alex…he was prone to the occasional bout of word vomit. Sadly, John was often the only wonderful, patient human being who he trusted with it, forcing John to listen to multiple tirades.

Maybe John had gone radio silence because there was the more than likely chance that even given the funeral, Alex was calling to talk about himself. Which, in a way, he had been.

Alexander Hamilton had very few people who he trusted, let alone who he loved. He could not lose John because of his attitude, or because of one stupid decision. This had to be fixed, and it needed to be Alex doing the fixing.

Right. This would take more than writing—which was something Alex _wasn’t_ really used to. But John was worth more than reading this second-hand.

Honesty.

He would give John all the honesty he could, and then they could get past this and continue on as they were before Henry Laurens died and Alexander made a slightly incorrect choice.

The timing was admittedly shit. It would probably have been best if he could at least wait until Henry Laurens was buried, but it had to be today, now, or he might break. Sinners couldn’t be choosers—or was that not the phrase, Alex abruptly couldn’t remember. He had a feeling it wasn’t English idioms he was struggling with though—he’d grasped those from birth pretty much, and was a fast learner—but more an inability to articulate past the uncomfortable lump in his throat and thoughts.

“Earth to Ham?”

“I’ve gotta go, Herc.”

Alex had decided what he needed to do, and once he decided things, nothing short of a hurricane could change his mind.

“Wanna fill me in where you’re going?”

“South Carolina.”

“Go get him tiger. Crash that funeral.”

Alex faked a quick laugh, “Thanks for the vote of support.” _I’m going to need it_.

 

* * *

 

Alex flew economy into Charleston International, fearing his vaguely erratic breathing and nervous writing might worry the overly nosy denizens of business class.

He hailed a taxi with just his small rucksack and laptop case, flinging himself in and then pausing. He made vague small talk with the driver—trying not to be fazed by the accent—as he googled Henry Laurens' home, scrolling past the news headlines at the top, wondering why he’d never bothered to ask John the address of where he was staying. Hoping google wasn’t misinformed they set off and Alex tried to calm his nerves.

John would understand.

If he didn’t, then Alex deserved it. But—maybe he should wait until after the funeral—it was early, too early, Monday morning now, and that meant the funeral was tomorrow. Alex would be the world’s shittest boyfriend if he dropped this on John the day before his father’s funeral. Even if the funeral was quickly becoming a Republican pissing ground and a national event.

Alex put his headphones in, shooting the driver an apologetic look as he searched through the major news outlets for Laurens. The results were not encouraging.

He calmed his breathing, willing himself to not break his phone, and clicked on the top video result which had a familiar head of wonderful—though annoying, if anyone asked, very annoying—hair, and a less familiar but equally unwelcome snot faced blonde.

“Senator Laurens was a true emblem of the south,” snot faced said. “His views were an exemplar of the American ideal and need to be honored now beyond his death.”

Jefferson nodded solemnly, his hair bobbing a little with the action. This also diverted attention from the slightly reddening face of snot face. “Thanks for your kind words, Congressman Lee. The folks of South Carolina’ve lost a long time Senator and we’re here in Charleston to pay our respects. Henry Laurens was a family man before anything else, and our condolences go out to his loved ones. Y’all are in our prayers. The service is tomorrow. The family has asked for no flowers, and donations to go to Henry’s charity of choice and to the local expansion of the church. Thank y’all for your time.”

Jefferson’s drawl was more pronounced that usual and Alex groaned. At least Burr wasn’t there with him. Then Alex couldn’t have been held responsible for if he broke his phone.

“You going to be sick, kid?” the cab driver huffed, thankfully pulling up outside a fuck-off mansion.

“No. And I’m not your kid. I’m actually a member of the President’s Cabinet and haven’t slept in twenty-five hours _again_.”

The man whistled. Alex got out the door, grabbing his bags.

“Sure, kid, and I’m the President. Have a nice trip seeing the in-laws.”

The man’s joke hit a bit too close to home and Alex quickly threw down more bills than the man could ask for, feeling a little sick at himself as he did so, both as the man was undeserving of the tip, didn’t seem too grateful, and as whenever he did this his seventeen year old self screamed at him somewhere in the depths of his mind that. Today he couldn’t deal with the moral ambiguities of whether or not it was acceptable to over-tip annoying people to make them shut up.

Alex slammed the door and heard the man shout out of his open window, “Thanks, kid.”

Alex whipped around, “Call me kid, _one more time._ ”

“Woah, hey, let’s have none of that!” a woman, rushing down from the house as the gates opened to let Alex in and the taxi drove away.

“I’m assuming your not with the press as you have zero chance of getting in with those mann—oh.”

She stopped as she got close enough to properly see him.

“Excuse me, I had a long flight. You must by Martha Laurens-Ramsay, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Martha shook his hand wordlessly, offering the slightest of curtsies that he guessed she wasn’t aware of, more a learned mannerism than an offering of respect.

“Mr Hamilton?”

“Just Alex is fine,” he smiled, trying to not look exhausted or stressed, and instead like someone you’d want your older and favorite brother to have been dating for three years without introducing you.

She huffed delicately—probably another thing they only learned in the south, although Alex was more accustomed to snorts or heavy huffs from John. “About time,” she said, clipped, tapping her sensible heel on the paving stones. “You better come in, Jack needs you.”

Alex felt himself tense like a piece of string, once again taut and ready. “What can I do?”

“Whatever it is you usually do,” she looked at him pointedly. “I’d guess you know him better than me, right now.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Mrs Laurens-Ramsay.”

“It’s just Ramsay,” she said, then, blushing slightly, corrected, “I mean, it’s Mrs Ramsay, but you can call me Martha. Sorry I’m being,” she waved her hand around encompassing her whole demeanor and all of the house. Alex nodded wisely. “It’s this place. Worse on Jack. That’s why he needs you. We all thought you’d come down with him.”

“I had to work the weekend,” he half-lied—he had got a lot of work done on the plane and the night before, instead of sleeping.

“Well you better come in, you’ve got a lot harder work to do here. He’s upstairs in his old bedroom, third on the right.”

“They kept the room as it was?” Alex asked, realizing how odd it was, asking as if John had died rather than moved out then been disowned a few years later.

Martha offered a half pout, as if that were the appropriate reaction in lieu of a shrug. “His things are in the basement. It's the second guest room now.”

Right. Because you could have five children and still have room for more than one guest room, and not bother to keep your son's room for him. Obviously.

“Thanks,” he said instead, and Martha moved her head minutely, not a hair moving out of place, in what he assumed must be a nod.

“Help him,” she said as he was already halfway up the stairs, and when he turned around to respond she was long gone, with just a whiff of rosewood perfume letting him know he hadn’t imagined the sharp eyed, round faced girl. Alex was already at the indicated door, completely closed, before he realized that other than a light dusting of freckles, Martha had looked nothing like John.

He knocked. “John?”

The door was open much too quickly and a slightly breathless, pallid looking John Laurens was there in front of him.

Alex was hugging him before he really recognized that he’d moved inside the room and John had slammed the door closed.

“I missed you so much,” Alex said.

“I needed you here,” John said.

“I’m sorry.” _More than you know_.

John pulled away, “I told you not to. Not your fault, and you’re here now.” John lent down, ignoring their height difference and buried his head in the shoulder of Alex’s grey sweater. “How has it only been two days?”

“Nearly three,” Alex corrected, hoping to get a laugh, but instead only getting a quiet hmm from John. “I’m not going to ask how it’s been because I can guess it’s been hell. I’m so sorry I didn’t come down with you. I spent every second—” Alex’s voice broke a little and he tried to put it down to emotion and not guilt, “wishing I was somehow here with you. Took talking to Mulligan to get me to actually get my ass on a plane though.”

“I’m glad you’re here now,” John said.

And you see, Alex had had a plan. And it had been a decent plan. It had been the sort of plan that took a whole plane journey to make and still seemed like it might fall apart, but there had only been a low chance of breaking John Laurens’ heart the day before his father’s funeral and that had been something. Alexander, in all his meticulous planning, had not accounted for having to look John in the eyes whilst saying it.

At that moment, John’s sister popped her head around the door. “Hey, you look better.”

Alex whipped his head back to John; Alex loved the man but even he could clearly see he didn’t look his best. Either Martha was lying or John had been coping worse than Alex imagined over the weekend.

“Thanks, Alex is helping sort through his stuff. What’s up?”

“Other Martha called, sent her condolences and apologized that they both couldn't be here in person,” Martha said.

John looked to Alex quickly then glared at his sister.

“Get out,” he said.

She raised her hands in mock surrender but didn’t look at all remorseful even whilst John looked back at Alex again, frantically. “Just passing it along. Don't know why she didn't call you. Don’t shoot the messenger.” She waltzed out the door, shouting, “And I’m making brunch for the kids, not for you.”

Alex cleared his threat, trying to divert the half frozen John from staring at the door.

“Is other Martha and old family friend?”

“My sister was just being annoying. I hope she's not been too passive aggressive to you yet. You didn't piss her off by any chance?”

Alex shrugged. “She caught me shouting at a taxi driver.”

“Any particular reason?” John drawled. His face was still rather blank, his freckles standing out more than usual. Alex got the distinct impression John was mildly annoyed at everyone this morning and specifically at him and Martha, but decided to soldier on through. At least Alex hadn’t been the one to wake him up before seven, Alex guessed that honor must’ve gone to Mrs Martha Ramsay.

“Oh, watching videos of Jefferson and his blonde snot faced companion fake sympathy. They’re…they’re going to be here tomorrow. And Burr. I thought you ought to know.”

John took a deep breath then nodded once, curtly. “Jefferson. Lee. Right, got it. Thanks for the heads up. Is that the only reason you came down?”

“No,” Alex said, trying to hide the hurt. John had every reason to be mad at him, more than he even knew.

“Then what is it, Alex? I’m kind of…busy moping.”

“Doesn’t count as moping if it’s justified.”

“Stop distracting me,” John said, but the storm clouds of his expression had dulled to a lighter grey. “I get it. You feel awkward here, me too. But please just—tell me you came down here to be with me and not for political reasons.”

“What? No, John, I would never—I came because I need to tell you something.” And there. He’d said the beginning. It would be easier from here; he’d already started to put his shields up, steeling for the wreckage.

“What is it?”

John met his gaze and Alex had to look away. He found the window and examined the skyline, the thin, wispy blue just rising out of the golden yellows. The blue was rising, ready to claim the sky and drown out the sunrise.

Usually. Words were meant to be easy for him. But—if they weren’t enough—if he couldn’t make John understand—

There were some things in life he was not willing to throw away. He had lost too much too early to take anything for granted in life. He had stumbled upon the most perfect flawed, wonderful man in a coffee shop in D.C. who was willing to let Alex slot his mad life against his, and even if it didn’t fit perfectly, it didn’t chafe and they dealt with the friction. Most people didn’t get that sort of luck once outside of Disney movies. No one got that lucky twice.

If you got that lucky, you then only had one job: to not screw it up.

When Alexander Hamilton made up his mind to do something, nothing short of a hurricane could chance his mind. A hurricane, or John Laurens.

“Ask something I mean,” Alex said.

He turned away from the sun and back to John, finding this a much nicer view.

“What?”

“John, I—I love you.”

John’s face softened into a smile as he rolled his eyes.

“I love you too, doofus. But you didn’t get a plane to South Carolina just to tell me that.”

Alex shrugged, trying to convey that he might have, that he would have if he knew it would bring that smile to John’s face for the first time since they heard the news.

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Then why did you come?” John asked, and he wasn’t shouting but the smile was only half there now and he looked so tired but still so perfect and Alex knew in that moment that he would do anything in the world to make this man smile and to get him to keep looking at him like that.

“I came to ask if you—if you were willing to do this doofus the honor—that is, if you would accept me as the half-finished mess that I am, with a pretty great mind, and a patchy track-record, and allow me to stay with you forever.”

He reached out, took John’s hand with its light spread of freckles, and sunk to one knee, looking up reverently at the wide eyed man before him.

“John Laurens, will you make me the luckiest person in history and let me have the honor of being your husband?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had a plan for the next few days; it involved hugging his sister whenever she started crying, playing with her children as much as he could to gain their trust in the short time he got to see them, and then tomorrow he would bury his father. Getting engaged had not been part of that plan.
> 
> OR: in which things unsurprisingly don't go to plan for John

John was not the sort of person who planned ahead.

He had spent his formative years moving between continents at the whims of his father, from South Carolina to Oxford, and then to New York after the “disgrace” he cause for the family whilst in England. And then he moved to D.C., his own decision that time, his first step away from his father’s legacy.

And now his father was gone. Yet, John still felt unsure how to make choices on his own. Admittedly, he probably leaned on Lafayette and Alex for most major decisions since they’d met. But Alex could not answer for John when he was the one asking the question.

John had had a plan for the next few days; it involved hugging his sister whenever she started crying, playing with her children as much as he could to gain their trust in the short time he got to see them, and then tomorrow he would bury his father.

Getting engaged had not been part of the plan.

“John?” Alex asked, worriedly. Perhaps Alex was pressing for an answer, but then John realized Alex was no longer on his knee and was actually next to him now looking generally concerned, one hand gently touching his hand, his eyes wide. Alex led him to the bed and sat him down, his hands ghosting around John as if he were a nervous animal, a turtle liable to swim away if anyone came too close. “I’m sorry, I don't want to make you say anything. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No,” John said—and his voice was quieter than he expected after the screaming in his head. He felt a laugh bubble up and over. “Don’t be sorry. You being here makes everything a little bit easier," it was ridiculous how John still felt embarrassed admitting things like this, but he was getting better at it. Like a confession, he admitted: "You’re literally my favorite person ever.”

“Even better than Martin Luther King Jr.?”

“Even better than Malcolm X.”

Alex grinned, and faked a swoon. “Oh John, I had no idea.”

“What I’m saying is that I love you. And don’t want to ever be without you, as the past two days have shown. So, yeah, I’ve got no problem with the _question_.”

“Timing then,” Alex nodded, agreeing with himself.

“Yeah. A little.”

“Well, let’s wait then. Deal with the immediate.”

John let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Thank you.”

“Bed?”

“It’s seven am.”

Alex pouted. “The plane messed up my sleep schedule.”

“Your sleep schedule is literally just staying awake until you pass out.”

Alex shrugged, nonplussed. “What can I help you with then? Did I interrupt anything this morning?”

John shook his head and looked down. Their hands had become intertwined at some point, and there they were. Alex’s smaller hands, with pen calluses, John’s slightly darker, longer fingers, joined together on the new crisp cream bed sheets that hadn’t been here when this was John’s childhood bedroom.

The sheets had been red and blue then. The bed used to be pushed against the window, and he would kneel on it late at night and open up the window to the world and lean out. When he was little he would look down and see a wonderful world like a fairy-tale castle with gates around it for his prince to break through. He told Martha that one and she agreed it was a nice idea, he told his father and he learned not to say it again. When he got older, he looked out the window and saw a gated community of hypercritical passive aggressive upper and upper-middle class suburbanites, dreaming of a day when he could get away to New York City and be free of his father.

Little John Laurens could imagine a lot, but he never imagined Alex sitting on his bed, smiling and asking what they should do next.

“We could spend the day with my siblings?” John asked, tentative and ready for Alex’s face to fall or his boyfriend’s guard to go up but Alex just said: “I’d like that very much,” and squeezed his hand. John willed himself not to blush but Alex’s widening grin let him know that was a battle he’d already lost.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you yet, but your freckles look delectable today.”

“I can’t believe I’m willingly about to introduce you to my family, you dork. Come on, let’s meet the Laurenses.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun came in at an unfamiliar angle waking John up too early. It took him a minute to remember where he was, what day it was, and why he didn’t feel so bad. Alex was on his laptop, sitting at John’s old desk, humming to himself. He was humming the song from the cartoons John’s nieces and nephew made them watch a marathon of last night. Martha—and Mary, who emerged from the play room looking exhausted and older than her age—had apologized for it but Alex seemed entranced by the songs and bright, happy narrative and shushed John when he tried to talk over it.

John laughed at the memory, and Alex didn’t turn from the screen, but his face lit up with a smile brighter than the morning sun, and wasn’t that just frustrating. John had never wanted to be part of one of the soppy couples and yet here he was, in love with the man humming a ten year old’s cartoon intro and grinning like an idiot.

“Washington sends his regards. I think Angelica’s coming along later as well to counter the Republican tide and to be here for us. And she still has this odd idea about “keeping open ties” with Jefferpants.”

“I can’t believe I let you watch children’s TV. Please don’t call him that in a cabinet meeting.” John yawned.

“I miss you working with me,” Alex’s face fell a little, a non-sequitur but essential nonetheless.

“It’s not been a week.”

“It’s been a really hard week.”

“It has. Waking up to see you in my childhood bedroom is making it turn around a little though.” Laurens stretched and yawned, pulling back the covers, surprised to see he was actually wearing pajamas for once, then remembered there were kids in the house and Alex had been exhausted.

“No, no,” Alex half closed his laptop, and came to sit on the side of the bed, throwing the covers back over him. “Don’t get up. Just lay there, you look very tired and very pretty.”

John flicked him on the nose and mumbled something incoherent about objectification before rolling back over and letting out a deep breath into his pillow. Today, he had to bury his father. This was the sort of closure he had always wanted but it felt like it had come too soon: he hadn’t figured out how to feel about it yet. He told Alex as much.

“You don’t need to feel a specific way about it.”

“But he’s my father, I should feel something.”

“There isn’t one approved way to grieve, not even for parents. Families are different. I didn’t grieve my mom in the same way I miss my father. I knew her, I related to her, and felt like my heart was breaking when I lost her. It’s always been different with my father. Now, I know John that you’re nothing like your father. I know only a small part of all the pain he put you through. It’s easy for me to hate him for that from a distance, but he was more than that to you. No one shares a grieving process. As our good friend Eleanor said, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

It took John a moment to realize Alex was quoting Roosevelt and not his sister Mary Eleanor, maybe showing just how tired he was really. It was time to wake up though, and that meant moving out of bed.

They got dressed, Alex having deigned to not get ready yet so as not to disturb John. It was still too early when they emerged from the room and made their way downstairs.

Mary was eating breakfast with her husband Charlie—they’d be married a year already despite her being the youngest sibling and John felt a jolt of something as he remembered Alex’s question from the morning before.

“Hey, John, Alex,” she threw them a hesitant smile.

It was disconcerting to hear his youngest sister call his boyfriend _Alex_ as if they were close friends. Henry had forbidden John from bringing Alex around of course, and the rest of his siblings were too much under his thrall to disobey him just to meet John’s boyfriend. John’s brothers had moved out but stayed in the area and would be meeting them at the service. Martha’s husband David had said he was going early to prepare things at the church, so it was just them and the children—who would be staying here, with a nanny, too young to understand their parents’ tension and grief at the loss of their grandfather.

Martha was making a plethora of breakfast things running between three pots and a frying pan. John remembered his mother dominating the stove in the same way when he was still small enough to need a stool to see the stove. Henry Laurens had never stood in the same place.

Martha caught him looking. “I gave Alice and Joan the day off,” she said, naming the usual cook and housekeeper. Mary didn’t even blink at this news. In a flash of eighteen years of hindsight, John realized how fucked up this probably seemed to an outsider: to Alex.

But the socialist, federalist leaning, Northern equality eager Alexander Hamilton Secretary of the Treasury for the Democrat President Washington, was staying silent, not making a complaint, and passing the butter to his little sister.

John didn’t think he’d ever been more in love.

“I’ve heard your name before Charlie,” Alex said, buttering some toast.

“Probably,” Charlie puffed out his chest. “My cousin’s the ambassador to the UK. And my other cousin Cotesworth knows you I think, he’s a lawyer, helped with Washington’s first campaign. I’m hoping to run for a congress seat myself once I’m old enough.”

“Thomas is your cousin? And yeah, Cotesworth helped us a lot, tell him thank you,” Alex laughed. “And shit, I forget how young you are. You’ve got a few years still.”

Mary shot Alex a quick glare when he swore and John resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. Martha, noting the situation as only someone with three kids under five could, turned up the news to diffuse the tension.

Fat lot of good that did.

Charles Lee was on the morning news with the scrolling headline underneath announcing that he was _Adopting stronger Traditional Family policies in honor of the late Sen. Laurens_.

And of course, Lee was talking which never helped anything.

“That’s the simpering snot faced shit from yesterday,” Alex said quietly so only John could hear, obviously having noted Mary’s disapproval before. “Please tell me exactly what it was like when you punched him so I can live vicariously through you.”

Lee was talking though, finishing up and definitely mentioned something about the enforced orthodoxy of nontraditional lifestyles. “I’m not saying the Supreme Court was wrong,” Lee sneered, “but my dear friend Mr Laurens agreed with me that such lifestyles choices should be decided at an individual level. The government should not be able to tell me what to teach my children or how I raise them.”

“Oh, it’s an anti-LGBT+ rant,” Alex said, faking surprise whilst both John’s sisters’ froze. Alex took a sip of coffee. “How original.”

“Henry Laurens had issues with this himself in his own family. In his memory, we should help all those who need the support to control this sort of detrimental behavior.”

The screen swapped to a picture of Henry Laurens and John heard Mary gasp, Charlie reaching out and taking her hand over the breakfast table. The voice over didn’t relent though, with no mind for the grieving or angry members of Henry’s family, it kept talking.

“Henry Laurens’ son is known to be in a relationship with Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton. Key sources in the Senate say that relations between the two men are growing tense in wake of the family death. Whether either of them will be at the funeral is yet to be determined.”

“Those bastards.”

To John’s surprise it was Martha who spoke not Alex.

“At least they said relationship,” John said, his voice calm even if his hand was shaking as he put his mug down. “Fox called you my close friend last time they reported this.”

“That good for Fox,” Alex pointed out. “I’m more interested in this key Senate source.”

“They’re talking out of their backside, obviously,” John said to him. “Or Jefferson making things up?”

“Maybe,” Alex frowned down at his plate. “I mean, it could be. But, Burr…I called him Friday night, and I perhaps wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Sorry. I forget he’s not my friend anymore sometimes.”

The news was still going, two blonde women and a fifty year old grey haired man discussing the news; John heard the phrase “damaging lifestyles” and “dishonoring memory” and decided he was done.

“Right, fuck this, I’m going to make a counter statement. Are the press outside yet?”

Martha’s eyes widened, she switched off the stove and spoke slowly. “They got there just after Alex got here last night.”

“OK,” John nodded. “Right, come on Alex, let’s show them how our damaging lifestyle’s working out for us.”

Alex stood up and looked pointedly. Anyone else would ask _are you sure?_ But Alex simply squeezed his hand and followed him out of the kitchen. Charlie Pinckney swore as they left the room and John heard Mary chastising him as they stepped out and walked down the hall. John checked his hair in the hallway mirror, whilst Alex pulled his back into his customary ponytail.

“I love you,” John reminded Alex.

“I love you too. Let’s do this.”

John opened the door, and led Alex down the drive towards the gates where there was a sudden onslaught of flashes and shouts from the gathered crowd. John opened the gates and stepped outside, closing them behind him and Alex, grateful that the Press didn’t try to push through whilst it was open.

“I’m here today to set the record straight,” John started, speaking firmly but not shouting so the gathered press had to quiet their shouting, instead shoving microphones towards them.

Alex let out a single, half halted laugh next to him.

“I’ve come back to my family home to mourn the loss of my father today. I recognize that this loss does not only affect me, or even just that of Henry Laurens’ family and friends. He was a part of this community, and country and so everyone needs time to mourn him in their own way. However, anyone who has lost someone knows that this is an intensely personal time and I ask your cooperation in respecting Henry's family and friends during this period, and please allow them to grieve in peace.” The gathered reporters had fallen silent, and John looked directly into the steady red light next to the largest camera’s lens. Recording. “I know some folks have said that a lot of my father’s policies don’t line up with that of the Administration that I have worked as a part of for the last three years. However, I hope that my father would wish me to be true to myself and would honor the choices of the individual, something he always promoted.” It was a skewed version of his father’s words, made nicer and more moderate. Who knows, maybe John would actually gain his father some support from the center-left. Everyone seemed more willing to like people in death. “Coming back here was hard,” he added, honestly, “and not something I would have been able to do on my own. But I got here, and I’m talking to you now on the morning the funeral, and that’s due to one person. So I would like to thank you for your consideration and respect for my family today, as we lay my father to rest, and I would like to thank another person who I share with the public and country, Secretary Alexander Hamilton,” John turned to Alex, vaguely seeing the camera lights start up again, lighting up Alex’s steady, sure smile. He squeezed Alex’s hand and took the deepest plunge he'd ever dived into. “Alex is the greatest person I know, the reason I'm here, and the man who I’m honored to call my fiancé.”

The heat from the eruption of camera flashes was overwhelming, more so than the near blinding lights, but all John could see was Alex’s wide eyes and his huge grin.

“Thank you for your time,” Alex concluded, regaining the ability to speak first.

The gates opened back up, and this time the reporters tried to press through behind them but John couldn’t even mind, knowing the gates would shut them out, and knowing, holding Alex’s hand, that everything was going to be fine now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Alex get used to the word fiancé and all the benefits and problems with it, John Has Secrets Too, and Angelica is back in the city all the way from London (dammmmn)

They stayed for half an hour after the service, John staring at the ground eyes closed whilst Alex tried to breathe steadily and not disturb him by fidgeting. John had caught Alex bowing his head and muttering a quick prayer during the service when he thought John wasn’t looking.

The funeral had been tense, too many opposing views in a large, humid room in the summer heat of Charleston.

“Let’s go,” John said. Alex nodded and let his hand hover next to John’s not forcing anything. John took it and led them out of the churchyard.

“Do you want to talk?” Alex asked, quietly.

“No, not right now, thanks.”

Alex nodded as if he’d assumed as much and held onto John’s hand a little tighter. John was struck with the realization of how mature Alex could actually be at points. It was hard sometimes to line the frantic overflowing genius of his boyfriend Alex up with the important fifth in the line of Presidential succession, President Washington’s right hand man.

Once they were back at the house and away from the camera John let himself lean into Alex and whisper “thank you.”

“You shocked me a little earlier,” Alex admitted. “I'm all for surprise declarations of love, but I thought when you said the timing was off you might just be avoiding the question, or at least putting it off until after the funeral, or the election, for a month, or a year, or indefinitely.”

“Definitely not,” John said, firmly. He turned to the shorter man, still in his crisp black suit, and carefully put his hands on either side of Alex’s face before leaning in and kissing him. “Knowing I get to keep you forever is the one thing stopping me from falling apart right now.”

Alex tried to smile but looked a little awkward and extricated himself from John, pulling out his phone as if it had just buzzed. “Shit, this thing’s been blowing up since your speech this morning – which was beautiful, and whoever said I was the one in the relationship with a way with words was sorely mistaken. I did switch it off during the service, honest.” Alex scrolled through the phone, throwing a smile John’s way then furrowing his brow when he saw John’s face. “Ah…should we sit down? Would you like a drink?”

“Is what people are saying really that bad?”

“No, I haven’t even checked twitter yet, but you look a few seconds away from fainting,” Alex led him through to his own living room, paused for a half second of consideration before settling them both on the smaller of the couches. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? Are the Ramsays on their way back?”

“No. And also no, Martha and David are going to pick up the kids, they’ll be a while. And Mary and Pinckney were heading straight back home. Everyone’s getting out of the state as soon as possible.” John forced a small smile. “I think Jefferson skipped out before the poem readings were even finished. He got in his press time. All good for an election year. He’s probably checking his approval ratings right now.” John nudged Alex’s hand. “Should we check ours?”

“I don’t care about approval ratings. I care about the fact that we’re – if I’m not mistaken – engaged.”

“Yeah,” John grinned. “I noticed that too.”

“Well, shit.”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay. I don’t care about texts anymore. I just want to have engaged sex. I’ve heard it’s better than boyfriend sex.

“Really? That’s definitely something we should check out to see if it’s true.”

Alex nodded, a little too eagerly to match his attempt at a straight face. “For research reasons.”

“But first let me indulge in what other people are saying,” he reached out a hand and Alex handed over his phone, open to his most recent messages. “I finally get to completely brag that your mine. I sort of want to see the string of people crying that they’ve lost their chance with you.”

Alex let out a surprised laugh. “I think those are more likely to come to your phone.”

John shook his head. “I’m a delicate flower this morning, remember. Only text I’ve got is twenty love heart emojis and a stream of French swearing from Laf.”

“Very refined of him. And you weren’t so delicate when you were taking no shit from those reporters this morning.”

John grinned, imperiously. He scrolled through Alex’s messages, a reel of congratulations from his staff, the Deputy Treasury Sec, and a few cabinet ministers. He read out the best ones as he went.

_**From Eliza:** _

_< 3 <3 <3 I’m so excited for you both. Herc is annoyed he didn’t guess this from your call_

“When did you call Herc?”

“Ah – I was deliberating, before coming down here. A little stressed. Didn’t have a plan or a ring.”

John smiled at the thought of the eternally organized Mr Secretary, his fiancé, flailing around calling their friends unable to articulate himself for once. It was sort of adorable, knocking John over a little bit with the knowledge that he could do that to this amazing prodigy in front of him.

“What did ah – Mulligan say?” Alex asked, looking away as if – embarrassed?

_**From HERCULES Mulligan:** _

_YOU TWO ARE A MESS OF ADORABLE AREN’T YOU? DUUDE if your issue was how to pop the Q you should’ve ASKED. ALSO TIP FOR NEXT TIME: NOT AT THEIR DAD’s FUNERAL._

John snorted.

“That’s true,” Alex conceded.

_**From Angelica SoS Supreme:** _

_CONGRATS all the way from London. I’ll be back Thurs, try not to get announce any more shock engagements before then._

“She’s been on a state visit,” Alex supplied. “Meeting with their foreign office and co.. Really I think she was just ‘visiting’ JC again, but Washington told me not to say that.”

“Talking of Washington…”

“The President’s texted to congratulate us on our engagement?”

“Well, congratulate might not be the word?”

_**From POTUS:** _

_I’m very happy for both you and John. Please come in for a meeting as soon as you’re back in D.C._

“Election year,” John reminded him, watching Alex’s face fall a little, trying to reassure him. “He’ll just want to monitor things.”

“What if I’ve screwed things up for him?”

“Then he can deal. He’s the President. And his approval ratings are huge. Re-election will be a breeze. He can spin this to good publicity. Don’t worry, Alex. Look, one more message… Maria’s your PA right?”

**_From Maris LewHISS:_ **

_What was that, 3 days? Great self-control you've got there, Boss._

“What's that about?” John frowned.

Alex grabbed the phone off him and laughed. “Oh, I told her last Friday that I was going to propose and she er – told me to wait for it until after the funeral so now I think she’s judging me,” Alex said all this very quickly whilst typing furiously on her phone.

“Well, I’m rather glad you didn’t wait,” John said. “Actually, very glad. And now I’d like to spend some time with my fiancé helping me to forget the last two hours before my family descends on us and we have no free time.”

Alex locked his phone and shoved it in his back pocket. "Well, we better not waste any time," Alex said, looking at his mouth. He leaned forwards and kissed John on the side of his mouth before slowly continuing, kissing down the line of his jaw. John groaned caught off guard and Alex pulled back. His dark eyes were wild, pupils blown, as if the kinetic energy that kept him fidgeting was overflowing through his gaze. John’s Oxford education supplied him with a thought of medieval authors claiming that eyes literally sent out eye beams stronger than Cupid, shooting at other people and hitting them, leaving them helpless. John was reminded of that first day three years ago when a random beautiful man asked him if he would tell a lie. John had sat reading a Pulitzer Prize winning book in a café in D.C. and a stranger has walked in and changed his life.

“I love you,” John said, and somehow the words sounded more like a revelation this time than they had the first time he said them.

Alex’s face lit up and the wildness of his eyes dimmed a little into something happier. He smiled and took John’s hand, leading him off the couch and up the stairs towards their bedroom. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

The reaction to their engagement in D.C. was a whirlwind of congratulations and reserved worries about having a cabinet minister marrying another man in an election year. John left most of the latter to Alex who seemed to be doing a good job of telling people to politely fuck off.

So belatedly John started his new job at Eliza’s law firm on a high that very little could knock him off of.

Unfortunately, a test to this came on his third day in the office in the form of Eliza’s sister, back from London and asking for a private meeting with him.

“It won’t be long,” Angelica Schuyler reassured them both, her secret service detail hovering on the side of the room. The three car security detail idling, blocking up their car park outside. “I have some London gossip to pass on to the future John Laurens-Hamilton.”

Eliza laughed and acquiesced too easily, not seeing the uncertainty in John’s face, or deciding it wasn’t worth countering her sister to reassure him. He wasn’t sure why he was quite so nervous, perhaps something in Angelica’s demeanor, or the way she’d said gossip as if it were a snake she was holding by its throat considering whether to throttle or throw it.

“What can I do for you Madam Secretary?” he asked as the door was closed and his office’s blinds drawn. He sat down beside his desk, assuming she would take the seat opposite, but instead she stood up tall, and clicked her heel against the floor once, showing off the shoe’s red sole.

“I’m back in the city to stay. I hope Alex passed along my congratulations.”

“We got your message,” John nodded.

Angelica cringed. “Oh gosh, you’re going to become one of those couples who uses the royal ‘we’. Just don’t do it around me. I have a job to do.”

“A very busy job, I’m sure,” John said, a little pointedly hoping she would take the hint and either get to the point or leave.

A few seconds later, he regretted his brusqueness.

“A lot of people on the other side of the pond know you. You made more of a lasting impact whilst there than you let on. I had an enlightening conversation with a woman who asked after you by name. First name. Martha Manning.”

John stood up pushing his chair back as Angelica stepped forwards and leaned over his desk.

“What’re you playing at John?” she hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Angelica.”

“Then you’d have no issue with me telling your fiancé what she told me?” John blanched and Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me he knows about Manning.”

“This is none of your business.”

“Alex is my friend,” a faint blush showing even through her complexion. She said the word friend like Eliza said husband, or Alex said fiancé, and suddenly John felt a jolt in his stomach as Angelica’s anger rose. “Don’t you dare screw him over.”

“What Martha and I had is completely over. I was trying to prove something to myself. I’m gay. Martha is the past. I will tell Alex when I want to and he will understand.”

“And he'll understand that you didn't mention the wife?”

" _Ex_ -wife," he hissed, feeling the disastrous truth that things fall apart. John had blocked his past and his time in Oxford out of his mind and never dared to let any of it back in his mind especially not once Alex arrive. The wall he built around his past had started to almost feel secure and not he felt like everything would crumble if he moved an inch.

"Ex-wife and kid."

"Don't talk about Frances."

"Oh, right that was her name."

John froze. “You have no idea what you’re talking about here.” Somehow, Angelica forgetting Frances was worse than her talking about Martha - Frances who must be beautiful and perfect even if he'd never met her outside of baby photos emailed across an ocean in an unprompted return for child maintenance. He heard his own voice break as he begged, "Please stop, Angelica."

Angelica’s face contorted into a pained expression, as if until that moment she had doubted the gossip even herself. “Oh, John,” she said, quieter.

“You should leave,” John’s voice was very firm considering his legs felt like they were about to become water and drop him to the floor.

“You’re my friend John, but I knew Alex when he had no one but me and Washington. I care about him like a brother but the idiot trusts too easily and has chosen to trust you. I hope you appreciate what you have with him. If you hurt him you’ll know about it.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Do I need to?” She leaned forwards, and the wildness, the _pain_ in her eyes reminded him too much of Alex’s fiery passion. He looked away. Angelica nodded accepting she had won. She stepped back, brushed non-existent lint off her white trousers. “Tell Alex about your ex-wife and daughter hidden in London, John. Before this goes any further. Or I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh John. Your kudos/comments/messages make me ridiculously happy


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elections and CIA and lawyers, oh my!
> 
> Or: Alexander is fine, obviously...But Washington, Peggy, and Burr don't quite believe him.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Alex asked. It was the first day back in their offices after the Democrat convention where John Adams had been officially announced as Washington’s running mate. Alex had barely got to the Treasury Department before he was called to the White House.

Washington greeted him with a smile as he stepped into the Oval Office. Alex took his customary seat on the couch to the right of Washington’s armchair. “Congratulations on the confirmation of your nomination.” The portrait of the first President smiled down at them from above the mantel.

Washington followed his line of sight and nodded. “I’ve always felt a strong connection to the first President Jackson. He was the one who set that we should run for two terms.”

Alex nodded the unneeded history lesson away. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, sir?”

Washington let out a half laugh. “Your respect, as always, is much appreciated. And your efficiency. How are you and John doing?”

“Fine, sir,” Alex said, more cautiously. “John’s settling in at his new job. Readjusting after getting back from South Carolina.” Washington nodded as if he had accepted those exact words. He offered Alex a half smile.

“Henry Laurens was the first thing I ever spoke to John about. I should have been more diplomatic.”

“Sir.”

“I heard about Henry and made assumptions about his son. Never had I been more wrong, Alexander. I’m very grateful you too found each other. I know it must have been hard at first – I do recognize why you didn’t tell me about your relationship at first now.”

Alex nodded his thanks, trying to hide his discomfort. When he first told Washington that he and John were dating and had been for six months, Alex had only actually met John a few hours before.

“You were very good at keeping your relationship private then,” Washington said carefully, and then Alex got it.

“This is about the engagement.” He was stood up suddenly, and the President was still sat down, looking at him blankly, with his perfect poker face.

“I’m happy for you,” Washington finished talking as if it were a complete statement but the unsaid _but_ lingered in the air.

“If you have something to say, _sir_ , please say it.”

“You must understand it is not the best timing, my boy.”

“When I took this job it was with the understanding that I could still have a personal life,” Alex said it belligerently, distinctively remembering the conversation and his lack of personal life at the time. How easy it had been for Washington to agree then. To agree to have an openly bisexual cabinet member when it hadn’t had any bearing on his election campaign. “Is this about my sexuality, _sir_?” He heard the derision dripping from the final word and Washington’s face seemed to fall, almost looking hurt.

“I just want to make sure you are both OK.”

“John and I are fine,” Alex snapped, not stopping to consider if it was a lie.       

“If nothing else,” Washington conceded, “you must admit this has raised both yours and John’s profile over the last week. You already have a smaller escort than the Secretary of State due to how…committed you were to have a smaller one at the start of our administration" - it was polite of Washington to say 'our' and Alex remembered that this was Washington talking, who he trusted and respected.  He tried to allow himself relax. "It would be safer given recent occurrences and press attention for your security detail to be increased.”

“I’m fine with Mulligan,” Alex said quickly.

“Mr Mulligan has requested some time off in lieu of his recent marriage.”

Alex paused. Hercules had asked for time off and not told him? “I – didn’t know that, sir.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Washington held up a hand, “he’ll still be around during the week. But for full protection and weekends, I thought it would be best to get a new team. The re-election campaign is heating up and since the conventions Martha and I have also had to deal with this increase. I’m keeping it small for you, but please don’t argue.” Seeing Alex’s face Washington added: “It’s for John’s sake as much as yours.”

And that wasn’t fair. Because he couldn’t argue with that.

“Good,” Washington took his silence as confirmation and nodded. “You’ll be busy planning the wedding I’m sure. And I chose someone to head the team who I think you’re already acquainted with,” Washington gestured to the door where someone had entered without Alex realizing. Maybe he did need someone else looking out for him. “I believe you’ve met Lieutenant-Colonel Schuyler before?”

“Peggy,” Alex grinned. The woman in question winked at him, standing loosely to attention, hands clasped behind her back and feet set shoulder-width wide but smiling back at him.

“Hey Alex, can’t believe you go engaged without even introducing me to the guy beforehand,” she tutted but continued smiling.

“Did you have some objection you wanted to make, Alexander?” Washington asked, “or are we done here?” The smirk was obvious in his voice. Damn the President for knowing him too well.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t need protection,” Alex reassured Peggy who looked unconvinced. “You’re here for John really.” They got into his office at the Treasury Department and Alex threw his bag down onto the floor, plugging in his phone that had lost charge sometime between the last time he was home and now.

“Sure,” she said. “Say, isn’t John taller than the President?”

“Maybe. I’ve never noticed.” John was exactly an inch taller than the President and Alex had noted it very carefully the first time he saw the men stood next to each other. “What’s your point?”

Peggy said nothing but looked him up and down carefully. She was wearing boots that looked flat but Alex decided there must be hidden heels somewhere.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“I said nothing."

“ _Hey_ , boss,” a new voice chimed.

Alex and Peggy both turned around to see Maria at the door to his office, leaning slightly on the wooden door-frame.

Peggy looked her up and down in a very different way to how she had with Alex only moments before but not as if she was seizing her up as a threat, something more languid.

“This is Peggy, Maria. Maria, this is Peggy my – personal assistant.”

“Sure,” Maria said dragging the word out to double its length. Peggy looked between the two of them and shot Alex a confused, concerned look.

“I’m going to check the office is secure and the new team know what they’re doing,” Peggy said slowly. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Alex nodded but Peggy wasn’t looking at him, smiling instead at the young woman hovering in the door. Once Peggy was gone Alex let out a sigh that merged into a groan somewhere between his brain and mouth.

“You better come in,” he said.

Maria Reynolds raised an eyebrow, stepped into his office, and closed the door. “Had I? Woah. So gallant of you. _Thanks_.”

“Stop it,” he said.

“No.” she crossed her arms. “Why is it I get the impression you’re ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you. I just haven’t been in the office at normal hours for a while.”

"I haven’t seen you more than twice in three weeks. Not feeling awkward are we, boss?”

“Don’t call me boss.”

“Why not?” her voice was like silk but her gaze was like a needle stabbing into his side. “You are my boss after all.” She stepped forwards, brushing past shoulder as she walked around him, settling in his chair. She spun it around so she was looking at him and crossed her legs, her skirt flowing evenly either side.

“Maria – I owe you an apology.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I get it. You’re an engaged man. The whole country knows it. John Laurens is perfect and I'm more than you bargained for in this equation. Don't worry about it. You've felt awkward, you've avoided me for a few weeks and made me feel shit about it. And now you've come to apologize for the great misdeed you did me. My boss,” her lips curled harshly around the world, accusatory, “the famous man of honor.”

“Maria, I can’t do anything. I shouldn’t have gone back to your house that night. I should’ve helped you more. I’m worried about you.”

Suddenly, she stood up. “I don’t need your worry. I can take care of myself and my daughter perfectly. I am not someone who _needs_ your help.”

Alex nodded, rendered mute by her justified anger. For once he actually felt like he needed to apologize and simultaneously had no idea how to do it. He had thought John was the only one he needed to apologize to, he had forgotten about – hadn’t considered because he was a dick, his mind supplied – how Maria might be feeling.

“Please let me help. I can't do nothing. Is your husband back?"

“James went away for the weekend, not three weeks. Of course he’s fucking back.” Alex took a step back and Maria took one forward, following him in the odd, painful, twisted dance. “So obviously I can look after myself. I’m not living with James anymore. I’m staying with a cousin – a cousin of a cousin? Fuck, I can’t remember. She offered her spare room until her roommate gets back Friday. No couch and I think she’d feel awkward relegating Susan to the floor even if not me. But Friday gives me time.” Alex wanted to offer help, congratulate her, and beg her for forgiveness but she took a deep breath and spoke before he could. “I’m looking into a divorce.” She threw out the words triumphantly and he knew how he had to respond.

“Maria that’s – I’m really glad you’re doing that. I think it’ll be the right thing for you and Susan. You’re a good mum.”

She looked annoyed with him still but nodded curtly, accepting his words.

“I can – I know a lawyer,” he said. “She’s good with divorce cases as well and she’s cheap.”

“You pay me well enough,” Maria said. He wanted to argue he didn’t actually pay her directly but understood she was trying to undercut the conversation again. He jotted down Eliza’s work number and gave it to Maria who took it carefully between her manicured red nails. “I’m not going to thank you.”

“I would feel very awkward if you did,” he admitted. Her lips quirked up slightly. “I recognize I fucked up a little here, and I’m sorry if I gave – I mean, I know I gave the wrong impression.” She laughed once, humorlessly.  

“You know, boss,” she said, “you should really talk less.”

Maria sauntered out of the office, pocketing the paper and Peggy walked through the open door, either through perfect timing or spy like sneaking. She looked concerned but hadn’t thrown anything at Alex so hopefully it was the former.

“All set?” he asked. Peggy nodded and started rattling off security information before stopping and noticing his frown.

“I’ll come and talk to you at lunch about it,” she said. “Because I plan on making you eat lunch. Angie’s warned me. And then tonight I can have a lovely meal with you and the elusive John Laurens.” She smiled quickly, stepped forwards and gave him a brief hug then left, following Maria’s path, her curls bobbing in the same way.

Alex’s phone vibrated on the desk and he picked it up, pulling it roughly off charge, not looking at the screen.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s Burr,” a smooth voice answered. “Thanks for answering.”

“Sure, I wanted to,” he lied.

“Nice to see there’s no hard feelings. Wanted to offer my congratulations again. Seems you and Laurens are the golden couple of D.C.”

“How would you know, off in New York Mr Junior Senator?”

“The capital’s the state where it happens. I’ve got to try and stay in the game somehow. And Jefferson is nearly constantly asking me so I might as well find these things out. Anyway. Congrats on the convention too.”

“And you,” Alex said, reluctantly, already wishing he could go back in time and not pick up his phone. This felt like a campaign spiel and he was not in the mood for one of those. Actually, his hands were still shaking. Hopefully Peggy hadn’t noticed. But then again she was Peggy, so of course she’d noticed. “Sorry you’ll never actually get to be Veep,” he added, trying to keep his tone light. “Should’ve chosen a different year to show your colors when Washington didn’t still have another term in him.”

Burr’s laugh was stilted through the phone but still enough to make Alex wanted to fly to New York and consider punching him. Not hard enough to bruise. And just once.

“That’s the spirit,” Burr said, “glad to see we can joke about this. Although, for the first time, we _are_ beating you in the polls as of this morning.”

“Don’t talk shit,” Alex said.

“Check, Alexander. I’m not lying.”

“But why?” he asked, getting the polls up on his computer only to see that Burr was not talking out of his ass. It was only a few points, a percent or two, but it was there. Jefferson had overtaken Burr this morning. And yesterday, at the convention, Washington had made a speech endorsing Alex and John’s relationship and saying it didn’t change his considerations for who his cabinet would be if he was re-elected. It should have been _when_ he was re-elected. Washington had a sure win. At least, he had until he’d stepped into controversial waters for Alex. And this morning, at the meeting, Alex hadn’t even considered it, had snapped, had told Washington not to get involved with his personal life, when Alex’s personal life was affecting Washington’s campaign.

“Fuck,” Alex breathed out.

“Don’t worry about it, Alexander,” Burr said, still on the line. “There’s months to go still. Anyway,” and was that awkwardness in Burr’s voice? A realization of what Alex was realizing and feeling right now? “Please pass my congratulations on to the future Mr Laurens-Hamilton.”

Burr hung up first. Slowly, Alex put his phone down, staring around his now empty office. The sunrise was just finishing up, the light settling to a too warm mellow yellow, welcoming the end of July. The summer heat was already a little stifling through the wide windows behind his desk, hitting his back and would be melting him by lunch.

Alex sat down at his desk carefully, straightening his chair was it was parallel to the desk. He moved a few pens, lining them up with the side of his papers, and put his phone perpendicular to his laptop. He turned his coffee mug around so the handle was at ninety degrees to his outgoing papers. He opened a tab and started up a talk radio station, getting the stocks and figures up on the room’s TV whilst the sound of the capital’s political turmoil was reported to Middle America as it awoke.

It was 6:47am.

He reminded himself to breathe, and settled in to his email and outgoing papers.

He had so much work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the gap there! Alex is trying? Next chapter: John, Alex, and Peggy have dinner!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like they were balancing on a precipice and everything was only held up by a precariously thin rope, tying them to the top.
> 
> Something was going to give.

Alex swung open the door and dropped his bag to the floor. “Honey, I’m home!”

John emerged from the kitchen, wearing a too large hoodie and with a bit of soy sauce around his mouth. "I've not started eating anything," he said, nodding solemnly as he licked his lips.

Alex liked to think he made his own luck in life, but seeing John stretching lazily and smiling at him, Alex felt he needed to be praying his thanks pretty heavily right now.  
  
“I always thought with lawyer hours, the honey line would be mine as I got home late,” John said. “I've failed somewhere as a good southern boy. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve gotten engaged to an insomniac workaholic?”

“Engaged,” Alex said, trying out the word and ignoring the jibe.  


They both grinned widely. The word was too new to have lost the appeal of saying it repeatedly, in any situation.   
  
“Oh shit, you two are adorable,” Peggy said, stepping from behind him and closing the door. John jumped whilst Alex ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. _Respectable politician_ , he reminded himself, _not a teenage boy. Get yourself under control._

Peggy stepped forwards and offered John her hand. “Peggy Schuyler. Alex and my sisters have told me so much about you.”  


“John. I didn’t know you were coming or I would’ve ordered more food.”  


Peggy shot Alex a glare harsher than any he’d had all day, even when he worked through lunch and tried to leave the office on his own. Apparently making her miss out on Chinese food was a cardinal sin.  


“Sorry, Pegs.”  


“You’re dead to me,” she said, blankly, turning back to John who was barely holding back his laugh. “Apparently you two need a greater security detail and I was back not doing much at all except partially running a minor division for a minor security company so I volunteered when I heard Alex was being picky.”  


Alex furrowed his brow and followed them to the kitchen. “You’d be promoted to Deputy Head of the CIA or something, hadn’t you? That was way too many minors.”  


John laughed as he started plate-ing up the food– to three plates, giving Peggy most of Alex’s Gan Guo. Peggy’s complexion almost hid her slight blush, but like with John, the tips of her ears gave her away. Alex wondered if she had to wear hats on special ops to cover them.  


“Congratulations,” he said.  


She nodded, a little stilted and shot him a quick smile before getting up and pouring them wine from the open bottle. This was useful as John was now stood slack jawed and a little frozen staring at Peggy with wide eyed appreciation.  


“Let’s just eat, shall we?” Peggy asked. Her smile was contagious. They settled around the kitchen’s small table. “This smells delicious.”  


John grinned. “Would y’all believe me if I said I made it?”  


“No,” Alex said, leaning over and kissing John on the tip of his nose. “Hi.”  


“Hi yourself,” John smiled. “We have a guest.”  


“Don’t mind me,” Peggy raised her glass, “technically I’m going to be here or around here most the time, or at least in shifts. Even if you can’t see me, please assume I’m watching and try and not make me regret this job too much.”  


John let his head tilt forwards, resting his forehead against Alex’s. “Sorry Peggy.”  


She laughed. “I feel that’s a sorry in advance. John you have nothing to apologize for. Now,” she pulled her chair up to the table and twirled her noodles around her fork. Alex pulled back, ready for whatever humiliation that glint in her eye promised. “- tell me how a nice boy like you got a tomcat like Alex to settle down.”  
 

* * *

  
“I never knew planning a wedding would be this stressful.”

“Everyone said it was gonna be hard.”  


“Yeah, but I thought that was because they were all bad at it,” Alex waved a hand around, gesturing at the layers of plans and papers before them. “I thought we’d have this in the bag.”  


“We’ve got time,” John shrugged. “We don’t need a date for a while.”  


“We need to get married before the election,” Alex said, suddenly.  


John stilled. “Why?”  


Alex pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and willed himself not to bite it. “It’d be better for public image. If we’re married before – ”  


John leaned back in his chair. “Woah.”  


“I know. Doesn’t mean we have to.”  


“Kind of does.”  


“We don’t have to listen to Washington.”  


“Yet most people usually _do_ listen to the President.” John let out a huff and stood up, moving to stand behind Alex’s chair. He leaned over him to look at the list of venues in Alex’s hand. John ran a hand through Alex’s loose hair, casually plaiting the bottom of it as he did. “We’ll be fine. It just accelerates things. Nothing bad about that.”  


“Are you sure?” Alex asked, turning around in his chair, even as John didn’t let go of his hair, enjoying the slight pull as he met John’s dark eyes. John leaned down and Alex tilted his head up to meet his lips, leaning into the kiss. He opened his mouth and pushed back against John a little, hard from this angle only to feel John laugh against his lips.  


“I’m sure about us,” John said, cringing at his own rom-com worthy words. “The wedding is what I want, to show the world that I love you and we belong to each other. If the best way to do that is planning and executing it in three month and a half months then I can do that.”  
John hadn’t moved his face away. His hand had let go of Alex’s makeshift plaits and was running through his hair again instead. Alex smiled. “Then we should probably start deciding on names, Mr John Hamilton-Laurens.”

“I’m fine ditching the Laurens,” John said simply.  


Alex shook his head. “I’m not.”  


“Well, we can talk about it. We’ve got time.”  


Alex smiled and nodded, deciding not to correct his fiancé, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest telling him they were running out of time.  
 

* * *

  
The news about John taking Maria Reynolds’s case came soon enough after their conversation for Alex to realize his suspicion had been right.

“It’s a divorce case, this isn’t your area!” he protested.  


“It’s my area if I can help, Alex. This isn’t just a divorce case. Maria’s been through a lot and when she was taking to Eliza – she – the money for a normal case isn’t really there. And I’m willing to do it for free.” John shook his head as if this should have been obvious, and really, Alex loved this man because it really should have been. “I don’t know why you’re so upset about this. Maria’s husband is a dick who deserves to get served and I’m going to do that. I thought you’d be happy?”  


“It’s all just a little too close to home,” Alex said, more truthful than he’d planned to be.  


John’s eyes widened and Alex realized belatedly how that might have sounded. It wasn’t like he could argue that wasn’t something he had thought about. But his past and his parents were topics off limit and John knew this. John was obviously fighting to hold back what he wanted to say.  


“I’m so glad you helped Maria,” John said, softly. “Sending her to Eliza was a great plan.”  


“It was the right thing to do, I think.”  


“I agree, and I’m proud that – that it would never cross your mind to do anything else. And I’m glad she’s accepted me as her lawyer. I want to screw James Reynolds over for life.”  


“And he shouldn’t get to see Susan,” Alex said, quickly and quietly, not sure where the vehemence had come from.  


“Maria’s already said the same thing to Eliza. Hopefully he won’t be able to.”  


Alex nodded. Maria was not a guilt free zone for him. He didn’t want to admit what he had and hadn’t done at first. He didn’t want to see John’s face when – if he ever found out. But Susan was an area he felt clearer on; James Reynolds had no right to continue calling himself her father.  


“There are some people who don’t deserve to have children,” Alex said.  


“That’s not our decision to make,” John said, quietly.  


“Parents shouldn’t leave or screw over their children.”  


“You don’t know why someone might leave - you were just saying it would be best if Reynolds left. ”  


“John, if a dad walks out on his kid for any reason short of saving their life or his own then I say screw him.” Alex threw the words out with a little too much vehemence. “I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. I just – don’t like to think about any kid in a shit situation.”  


“I get it,” John choked on the words. “I should’ve thought. Let’s not talk about it anymore tonight. Let’s talk about something frivolous.”  


John’s eyes were watering and Alex stepped forwards quickly but John waved him off with a smile.  


“Did we get the venues list down to one yet?”  


“It’s down to five.”  


John laughed. “Let me see. I can always close my eyes and pick one.”  


“This is our wedding, we can’t leave it to chance.”  


John looked at him and frowned slightly. “It’ll be perfect anywhere, but if it matters that much to you…”  


“It does.”  


“Well then,” said John. “We’ll make sure it’s perfect.” John kissed him suddenly, and Alex let himself melt into the kiss for a few moments before pulling back. He sighed into John’s chest, letting the taller man’s arm wrap around him. Alex didn’t want to plan the wedding right now – in fact, he didn’t really want to leave this moment. It was like they were balancing on a precipice and everything was only held up by a precariously thin rope, tying them to the top.  


Something was going to give.  


And the next day, it did.  


Washington’s chief-of-staff, Nathanael Greene, called Alex into away from his offices again and to a meeting with the Secretary of State and the President. Washington and Angelica were already there when he arrived. Two members of Washington’s staff, Harrison and the woman who had replaced John, were standing behind them, ready for instruction and orders.  


Washington’s brow was minutely furrowed, which for him could mean the edge of World War three.  Paired with Angelica’s lightly sick complexion, Alex sat down quickly upon entry.  


“What’s happened?”  


“Nothing, yet,” Washington said.  


“Some claims have been made by the speaker of the house – the Republican presidential nominee now – about the nature of your relationship with your supposed fiancé John Laurens,” Green said.  


“Supposed?” Alex turned to Green, spitting out the word. “Have we got a problem here.”  


Washington sighed. “Alexander, I apologize that I have to ask this. But please tell me you and John didn’t fake an engagement to distract the press news cycle from focusing on Senator Laurens’ death and the Republican convention.”  


“That’s _ridiculous_. And offensive. And probably homophobic. Sir – how could you – we’re planning. I can show you the list of venues we’re pouring over – down to two now, if you wondered – if you need _proof_ ,” he spat the last word and Washington blinked. Practically a flinch. Alex leaned back and titled his head down, a little embarrassed at his outburst.  


“I have to check, Alexander,” Washington said. “It seems – there are slight inconsistencies.”  


“Inconsistencies?”  


“In dates,” Greene supplied. “Especially at the start of your relationship. So, when we got the claims we checked them out quickly and started to find that things didn’t add up. It was worrying. Looks like you faked the whole thing.”  


“Don’t,” Angelica snapped, speaking for the first time. “That’s enough.”  


“It looks like you were playing the relationship for votes,” Green concluded, shrugging off Angelica’s anger and Alex’s glares. “Jefferson is trying to throw doubt on us because he can’t get any liberal votes for himself.”  


“Alex,” Washington said, claiming Alex’s attention quickly with the authority in his quiet tone. “Jefferson claims that when he first met John, you told him you were in a serious relationship with John. Thomas claims that was a lie. He says he’s discovered that the first time you and John ever met was that very morning. That couldn’t be true, could it, son?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fake relationship plot sounded cute when it was just Alex meeting the love of his life, but when he was explaining it to the POTUS he started to realize how trite it sounded.

A fake relationship plot sounded cute when it was just Alex meeting the love of his life, but when he was explaining it to the POTUS he started to realize how trite it sounded.

There was no way need to deny it to the public as Jefferson had no proof - yet, Greene warned with a thinned mouth and crossed arms. But Alex did admit it to Greene and to Washington as they needed to know what they were dealing with.

Greene had been in the army with Washington. No one would use the word mellow about the current President, but Washington has certainly settled aloofly into his frame and his physical power. Greene wore it like a warning that if you pissed him off he would slaughter you. That combined with the power of being one of the longest running Chiefs of Staff and most people deferred to him pretty quickly. He was one of the only people in the capital – in the country – with the power to call Angelica, Alex, and the Secretary of Defense into the same room without the President. When Greene said, “Did you pretend you were in a relationship?” Alex told him the truth; the whole truth, sadly.

“That is – the most stupid thing I have heard.” Greene concluded.

“I’m not stupid,” Alex bit back. “I was under a lot of stress. And hey, I met the love of my life. Go be jealous elsewhere.”

“Your life is not an after school special meet-cute Hamilton, you’re a politician. The public votes for you.”

Alex wondered who taught Greene the term "meet-cute". “Technically the public doesn’t vote for me. Unelected officials,” Alex pointed at himself and Angelica. Angelica shot him a _shut up or I’ll strangle you with my scarf_ smile and he realized it was probably time to shut up. After adding one more thing: “You weren’t voted in either. We’re here by the grace of the General.”

It wasn’t technically pulling rank if Alex was doing it on Washington’s behalf but Greene still looked flustered and furious.

“That’s enough, Alexander,” Washington said. “I am answerable to the people. And if I wish to us all to continue to help the people to the best of our abilities then we need to get re-elected.”

“Sir,” Alex bowed his head.

“I’m not angry, Alex. I admit I don’t completely understand – ”

“It was really a spur of the moment thing.”

Washington stared at him pointedly for the interruption and Alex ducked his head again.

“But I do recognize that you and Laurens have something special. I’ve worked with Laurens for long enough to know that the man is as – infatuated as you yourself are. I have no doubt that you two feel very deeply for each other now. The fact that you initially – concealed this from me,” and here Washington’s mouth twitches down a little and Alex feels like he’s been hit by a heavy weight champion, “that you felt you couldn’t disclose this to me at the time – of course I’m a little disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t bother with the sir right now, Alexander. I’m not disciplining you. I trust that what you and Laurens have has developed a lot from the initial lies,” and it’s Alex’s turn to flinch at the word lies. “But I also trust you to sort this out.”

Greene snaps his head up, and stare at Washington. “We’re going to let them resolve this themselves, sir?”

“Yes, we are.”

Angelica stands up and brushes down her pant suit. “Don’t worry Greene. Alex is right – he’s not stupid. He doesn’t let things go wrong. And this thing involves John so he doubly won’t let it go south. Alex may be spontaneous, too quick to react, a pain in the ass, and precocious at points, but you can trust that if he can do something to protect John Laurens, then he’s going to do it perfectly.”

Alex wanted to thank her for believing in him, for putting it so eloquently. But she looked uncomfortable, her lips pursed too tightly and her eyes watering slightly.

“Excuse me, summer cold,” she said, brushing her eye with the back of her hand. “Greene, Mr President,” she nodded at them, then walked out. “Alex,” she let her hand ghost over Alex’s shoulder as she walked past him, and then she was gone, and as Washington looked at him sympathetically, and Greene looked away awkwardly, he got the distinct impression he just missed something.

 

* * *

 

Alex was late. To his own plan. John accepted this as a fact of life around the one year mark. But tonight he’d thought Alex might try a little harder to get there. John was a tiny bit nervous – not anxious level but jittering in his seat wishing he was elsewhere? Yes. Perhaps that level. And Alex always helped to calm his nerves, knew what to do, and say, and –

Alex put his hand on his and stilled John’s tapping fingers. “I missed you,” he leaned over and kissed John. “Shall we get started?”

Alex had come to the office earlier and told him in a rush of shame and anger about his meeting with Washington, with a lot of expletives describing what he thought about Greene. Apparently Washington though the dignified way to deal with Jefferson’s rumors – that John knew full well were perfectly true – was to ignore them and pay them no attention. Alex seemed to think that shoving their relationship down the public’s throats was the best way to show its authenticity.

“I do recognize this is a trite plan,” Alex sat down opposite. “How was work?”

“I’m working on my new case, you know about it.”

“Cool. Yeah, I remember.” Alex looked around, a little too obviously. The coffee shop - _their_ coffee shop - was still open and bustling despite the hour. John was sat at the same table he had when Alex bombard him that first time – waltzing into his life in a hassled haze: hair and tie askew but suit on point.

“We’re doing this for the right reasons,” John said quickly and phrased it as not quite a question. Alex paused and looked at him carefully.

“Do you not feel like we are?”

“Of course not,” John wished he hadn’t asked the question.

“I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable,” Alex frowned. “We’re not doing anything that doesn’t feel right to you. We’re already engaged. We don’t need pictures of me giving you the ring. This wedding is about us. Screw the plan. Screw Greene _. Screw_ Jefferson.”

John closed his eyes, letting out a smile. “That’s a horrible image.”

“What – oh, woah.” Alex looked vaguely disapproving. “You’re such a child.” But Alex’s mouth twitched slightly.

“You’re the one marrying me.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” John let his accent slip out and wrap around the words whilst his hand held Alex’s.

“Oh, about that,” Alex hit his own head in fake surprise. “I have something for you.”

“Alex – ”

“Just a little something to say I – ”

“You don’t need to – ”

“I mean, you were in the shop with me when I picked it out so you’ve possible seen it already actually – ”

“I think the point was to let people see the engagement not hide it - _Alex_ ,” John laughed, and then Alex quickly pulled his left hand away from John’s and replaced it with his right. Alex deposited the cold metal band in John’s hand, closing his fingers around it so no one could see.

Alex’s face lit up into a grin, “So how about it then?”

John felt his own matching grin widen as he opened his hand. The silver band was thin and smooth. He slipped it onto his ring finger without hesitation, and then reached out and reclaimed Alex’s hand.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alex pouted.

John shrugged. “I hope my actions speak louder than my words,” he said before leaning in and kissing Alex, framing his face with his hands.

The picture of the kiss that he found online the next morning had a beautiful view of the silver ring, standing out against his skin and sitting beautifully as if it were in the place it was always meant to be. His hand, with the ring on full show, was pressed lightly against Alex’s cheek as they kissed. The Treasury Department retweeted it, wishing them congratulations and John had a surreal moment of _what even is my life_ before settling into the fact this was his bizarre reality now.

Some critics argued such public displays of affection shouldn’t be flaunted so close to the Hill. Jefferson’s people leaked a – for once true – rumor that the café was the same one they met in. Most people who heard this rumor, rather than becoming outraged, simply misinterpreted it and found it unbelievably cute.

Either way it worked for John. He got to show off his fiancé and hadn’t even needed to stage a second proposal.

The photo was the most liked on the Treasury’s page by the end of the week.

 

* * *

 

Deciding the location became easier after that. “If we’re being coy about how our relationship started and sickeningly adorable then I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before,” Alex said, on the phone.

John was at work, loading the attachment Alex emailed.

When it loaded he frowned for a minute looking at pictures of a vaguely familiar ballroom. It was in D.C., and free for their decided date. Truly, there was some bell of memory ringing in the back of John’s mind looking at the large floor to ceiling windows and after the original thoughts of _opulence, cost, not us_ , he remembered.

“The gala,” he said. And the windows were snow speckled in his memory now. And there was Eliza on the dancefloor, with Alex. The night didn’t start well, but –

“Yeah,” Alex sounded uncertain over the phone. “Urg. It's corny. And that party went badly. You hate the idea don’t you? You can tell me.”

“It’s perfect.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Give me a minute,” John said, clicking onto the website and typing out a quick email.

"John?"

“All done. They’ll get back to me shortly.”

“You _booked_ it?”

“We need to get a move on. And that night became one of the best of my life.” John suddenly felt out of place saying these words alone in his dull office with its stark clean lines that weren’t them – they were hot chocolate and slippers and organized chaos. “I’ve got to work,” John said, a half-lie. “I’ll see you at home tonight.” _Home_. He wished it was the end of the day already.

“We can start working on invites,” Alex laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” John said as Alex hung up.

John had dreamed of his wedding for a long time, planning alongside his sisters, imagining their perfect men, ignorant of all the trouble it would get him in. His work was swarming outside the office and he needed to get back to it – taking a five minute lunch was too long most days. He thought of Maria Reynolds – Lewis again soon hopefully – and her daughter Susan. John wondered what Maria had thought of James when they were planning their wedding.

Forcing his mind away, he checked his emails, finding one from the work email of the Secretary of State about the Save the Date cards he and Alex had send out. Even now he had to stop and remind himself this was his life at least twice a day.

Angelica was emailing to confirm that she wouldn't miss it for the world, said she’d just spoken to Alex this morning but he had said he would remember in a voice that indicated he had already forgotten what she said.

She was asking for a plus one, a Mr John Church, and ended the sentence abruptly after his name with a telling lack of information.

She asked if Martha Manning and Frances Manning’s save the dates had gotten lost in the post or been sent to their London address rather than their new D.C. one - oh, had he not known they were visiting? Angelica said she had taken the liberty of passing on the wedding information to Martha. She told John, without having to write it, how little she thought of him.

John picked up the phone, barely noticing his hands were shaking.

“Office of the Secretary of State, how can I help you?”

“This is John Laurens, I’m calling Secretary Schuyler about an email she wanted me to get back to her about urgently.”

“I’m sorry, Madame Secretary is out of this office for lunch. I’ll pass on your message when she returns.”

“Can you tell me who she’s with?” he asked, quickly.

Instantly: “I’m sorry I can’t pass on that sort of information.”

“Is she with Martha Manning?”

Then, a pause, and a slight half syllable of assent before the usual spiel is parroted out again.

John’s heard enough. Apologizes for wasting time. Leaves no message.

So, Martha was in town. This should be fun.

John hung up and tried to push down the nauseating feeling that this wedding was doomed from the outset.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind. 
> 
> Aka. The shit hits the fan

Martha Manning was in D.C.

John's ex-wife, Martha Manning, was in D.C.

Breathe, John, breathe.

Right.

Rewind.

 

* * *

 

At nineteen John Laurens thought that life couldn’t get much worse.

After an argument with his father to end all arguments – after he stopped looking at Little Henry Jr. for a few minutes when he was supposed to be watching, and his little brother had the broken arm to prove it – John thought that moving away to one of the world’s most prestigious Universities couldn’t be worse than what he was moving away from.

It had started out fine – a decent first year, matriculating with the rest of the Freshers whilst they all asked him to pronounce things in his funny accent. He hadn’t made friends per say, but had developed a social group – especially a few boys who he knew he could actually talk to now and then off his law course. John Laurens stayed in the UK over the summer and took a tour of the country, going to York and Newcastle, and up to Edinburgh for a weekend. Anything to avoid South Carolina.

It had been going fine until his father paid a surprise visit in the second term of his second year. Henry Laurens got the College to let him in because of the impressive “Senator” before his name holding credence even an ocean away, and walked in on his son with Robbie from the rowing club.

They weren’t doing anything. But apparently enough implication had been there for Henry to explain that he would be disowned if he didn’t turn himself around and start being interested in the right things. It was bullshit – and living away from home and in England had shown John just how bullshit a lot of his father’s ideas were. But that didn’t change the sense of pain and shame he felt when his father said how disappointed his mother would be if she were still alive.

John knew logically that Henry Laurens didn’t give a fuck about John’s mother – remarrying two months after someone’s death tends to give that impression – but the implication had still hurt.

So once Henry left to go back to the Randolph Hotel for the night, John had reacted accordingly and called all his friends from his course to help him get completely drunk.

And now he was here in the light of the morning.

He’d thought that life couldn’t get much worse, but the smell of sick mixed with the smell of sex and sweat brought back the memories of just how quickly he had proved himself wrong.

She stretched out in the bed beside him and made a content sound between a yawn and a sigh. Slowly, she opened her eyes and her lips curled up at the corner into a smile.

“Hi John.”

“Hi Martha,” his throat was rougher than Oxford’s cobbled streets and she cringed sympathetically.

“Have you had some more water? You were sick last night, if you don’t remember.”

Yes, he remembered, he also remembered why. “Drank too much,” he lied quickly as if the three words were one. She accepted the lie as if both of them didn’t remember. Didn’t remember him pulling away when she tried to cuddle after they finished, didn’t remember him running to the ensuite and throwing up in disgust. It was the alcohol. He’d said the lie last night too. She’d held his hair back and given him a glass of water and then led him back to the bed and settled on the other side, barely touching him before he forced himself to lean into her, and put his arm around her, fighting back the itching feeling to run.

Martha – Manning? He thought that was her surname – was the brightest student on his course and a year ahead of him, and had taken a gap year before university to “find herself” and ended up being gone for two. Finally, this year she was going to graduate – unless anything stopped, she joked – and would be moving to London to work for a mid-size, not morally repugnant law firm. He vaguely remembered the celebration drinks from when she secured the training contract last term. John had seen her in class speaking eloquently and refusing to be interrupted, and had seen her throwing her head back laughing taking shots quicker than the rest of them whilst waxing poetic about the need for legal aid, and the injustice still able to creep into the legal system.

John admired Martha for these things, and had tried to imagine himself paying her compliments for them, asking her on a date, taking it further – but the clenching in his stomach whenever he imagined it had always held him back. Martha was an amazing woman but John had always been certain she was someone else’s dream.

Apparently Henry Laurens had a way of making him feel shit enough about himself to forget that.

“What happened last night?” Martha asked, conversationally. She propped herself up on her side, resting her head on her elbow. “I didn’t think you were interested like that.”

“I—” John spluttered through his sandpaper throat and she smirked a little. Martha was understanding but she was also human, and John could feel his father’s words on the back of his neck like a controlling hand. So he let the lies flow. “I’m not gay.”

Martha’s smile became a bit more genuine and he tried to let himself relax. “Cool. I do know the word bisexual you know, I’m not gonna judge.”

John excused himself pretty quickly, citing an overdue essay.

“Thanks for everything, and for – understanding,” he said, lamely.

“No worries,” she sat down at her desk and let her thick dark hair fall over her right shoulder as she turned to offer him a hopeful smile. “I’ll see you around?”

John went out for lunch with his father and blithely mentioned his girlfriend Martha. Henry Laurens looked vaguely pleased of John for the first time since before Henry Jr.’s accident. Henry decided to extend his trip to a week. John didn’t keep down anything he ate at lunch.

Seeing Martha in classes was saved from being mildly awkward by the fact she seemed to assume not that nothing had happened, but instead that they were both on the same page – the first page of a relationship. John invited her round for takeout – planning on discussing what had happened – and ended up admitting he’d told his father they were in a relationship after she held his hand. She shrugged and said the three of them should go out for lunch.

The lunch was one of the most horrific hours of John’s life, saved only by the fact that Martha was as disgusted by his father’s political views as he was – she was only slightly more reserved than John about saying anything.

“Your father’s a dick,” she said succinctly when Henry went to chase down the bill.

“Yeah, sorry, should’ve warned you.”

“He’s Republican, I could’ve guessed,” she smiled and leaned over and kissed him.

John pulled back, and tried to not thank her. “My father’s not here right now,” he said pointedly instead – there was no use pretending, he meant to say.

Martha laughed and frowned a little. “Well I wouldn’t want to kiss you if he was. This is for us.” Then she kissed him again.

As Henry got back and made a show of paying for the whole meal – even when Martha offered otherwise – John realised that whatever his mess of emotions and feelings were about what had happened with Martha, she was starting to like him.

Two weeks later, when Henry had gone home, and John had nearly run out of excuses for avoiding Martha, she arrived at his door with a positive pregnancy test and the news that she wasn’t sure what he’d intended this to be, but she wanted to be a mother.

Responsibility, truth, and kindness never really went together – so he chose the option that upheld the first fully, ignored the second, and hopefully kept the third for Martha even if not for himself.

Two weeks after Martha graduated, they were married. She postponed her law training contract for a year to stay in Oxford and have the baby.

John could never be sure, and ranked it amongst the worst mistakes of his life, but it was probably around the seven month pregnancy mark Martha realized he had never been in love with her. She never confronted him about it, and he didn’t stop lying. Eventually they both stopped the charade of saying the words, he continued working on his degree, and she became active in local politics and community work.

Frances Manning Laurens was born on Hallowe’en, a perfect present to the two of them, like an undeserved reward for their sham of a marriage. John turned twenty-one three days before his daughter was born: married, a father, and not yet out of college.

Perhaps it was unsurprising how quickly it fell apart after that. Frances was amazing, but John was terrified. He was too young, too stupid, too little in love with her mother and he wanted to be so many things that he knew he couldn’t be. Again, the universe handed him an ace with Martha though who, despite her obvious aggravation never seemed to be angry, just disappointed.

Frances Laurens was spoiled rotten no thanks to John. He used the excuse of third year being hell for how infrequently he visited Martha’s two bed on the edge of the city.

“I’m fine,” she said to him with a half-smile when he asked and an odd look that he vaguely recognized. He tried saying that he loved his wife in front of his dorm room mirror and saw the exact same expression on his face. So she’d learned that from him.

“My friend’s coming to stay for a while, I met her on my year abroad. We stuck together for two years,” Martha said over the phone, calling him before his first exam. He had his white carnation pinned to his chest.

“That’s great. Is she staying with you?”

“Yeah, you can meet her tonight. You’ll love Alice. Good luck with your exam, John.”

“Thank you, Martha,” thank you that you stopped saying honey and love, thank you that you’ve got someone else to help you raise our daughter so I feel less like I’m dying every time I think about it, thank you that you’re not calling me out on the charade.

When John met Alice, he learned somethings about Martha very quickly. One, Alice was quite clearly the reason her year abroad had been extended. Two, Martha had not been lying when she said she knew about bisexuality. Three, this was what his wife looked like when she was in love with someone.

The day that John Laurens and Martha Manning got divorced due to irreconcilably differences, they went out for a drink, got drunk, and told each other the truth for the first time in years. John had only held his diploma for a month, and Martha had just signed on a flat in London, moving to work for the foreign office instead of returning to law. Alice didn’t last – by the time the divorce was finalized she was already off the scene, not before punching John once for good measure – but Martha said that her and Frances would be OK without any of them. Her parents lived in London. Martha, a little upset and a lot angry, told John that Frances would have her mother and her grandparents and that losing an absent, closeted father would not be much of a loss at this juncture.

Perhaps then, a month off his twenty-second birthday, was the moment when John realized that life can always get worse.

He moved back to America, but gave himself the undeserved reward of moving to New York rather than South Carolina. His father never quite forgave him, and John knew he would never forgive his father, or himself.

Martha and Frances became names on the end of a phone line, and scribbled on the end of monthly letters – one in a professional careful hand, and after a few years, the second as an indiscernible toddler scrawl. Over the years the letter became biannual cards – Christmas and birthdays. So by the time John met Alex it was easy enough to not mention them.

 

* * *

 

The day Angelica Schuyler brought Martha Manning and let her slip in the middle of John and Alex's life was another such day, when John realized things always have the possibility to go worse. Henry Laurens was dead and John couldn't blame his father for his mistakes when the other man was in the grave. The worst thing John had done had been perpetuating the lie. And he had screwed Martha and their daughter over - that was something he couldn't take back. But he could save Alex from the same thing. He could tell the truth.

When John got home from the office, a little late, a little frazzled, and a lot terrified of what he was about to admit to the love of his life, he realized he’d been beaten to the punchline.

Martha Manning, almost a decade older and sharper and more refined for it, was sat opposite Alex. His ex-wife had a poise about her, a defensive hunch to her shoulders, but a surety in her movements as she sipped her wine and met John’s eyes over the rim of the glass.

“Hi John,” she said.

John’s voice was as dry as it had been that first morning as he replied, “Hi Martha.”

Alex wasn’t drinking, was holding a clean empty glass too tightly in his fist and his eyes were half closed, whether to deny the situation, or due to sheer exhaustion John couldn’t tell. There was a static electricity around John’s fiancé even when he was sat perfectly motionless, as if an electric storm were brewing and the hurricane warning was sounding overhead, causing everyone to stop and look at Alex, paralysed by what might happen next.

 “Honey,” Alex said, and the word was injected with something poisonous John had never heard from Alex before, “I think you know our guest.”

Martha swallowed visible, her eyebrows raising at Alex’s tone but not with disapproval, instead merely as if she were a spectator at a sport’s match. She did offer John a slight sympathetic smile.

But Alex wasn’t done yet, “I’m not sure if you noticed, John, but when we wrote the guest list you forgot to add your ex-wife.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John was always so reticent with details, Martha. When did you two meet?”
> 
> “We don’t have to do this,” John said, quietly.
> 
> “Oh, but I want to.”

 

Alex wanted to be anywhere but here. Martha had introduced herself so politely, as if her presence was planned and his reaction to her arrival was expected but disappointing.

“I guess John didn’t tell you I was coming,” she said, and he offered her a drink.

“Sorry, no. Wedding planning brings out the old friends from your past,” he forced a laugh to hide the awkwardness of the phrasing—no need to mention that his past was pretty empty of potential pew fillers. “You’re British so I’m guessing you met John at Oxford?”

“True love,” she nodded, smiling slightly ironically, and Alex paused before pouring his own glass.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Maybe he tells it a different way?” she asked, her voice and eyebrows raised.

“What’s your name?”

“Very funny. Martha –Manning,” she added with a roll of her eyes and a slight frown when Alex didn’t react—as if the surname as if it wasn’t needed – Alex wanted to explain he hadn’t known her name and didn’t understand what was funny. “I tried being Martha Laurens for a while but we got me confused with his sister on bills even living an ocean away. Frances went double barrelled of course – still is,” she gestured with her wine glass to emphasis the last two words.

“No, wait. What?”

“Frances kept John’s name after the divorce,” she said slowly. “She’s still his daughter even if John and I aren’t married anymore.”

Alex nearly dropped the wine and Martha looked puzzled, but less antagonized. Perhaps she was excusing his ignorance as awkwardness, or lack of details from John, and his lack of recognition from a lack of pictures. Martha got up and looked at the pictures on the mantelpiece. The rest of their photos were in the bedroom their ones of their families, but there were none of Martha or any child that could be Frances as Alex assumed she had been looking for.

There was one of them at Corny Island with Hercules, Eliza, and Lafayette from their visit to New York the summer before and there was one of the two of them in suits at a gala event from the beginning of their relationship. It looked purposefully candid but Alex knew the true providence of the photo. Neither of them had known it was being taken, both being oblivious that night to much beyond their feelings for each other and their ability to put on a show for the gathered guests. Looking at it now, it was hard to imagine John hadn’t realized Alex was actually in love with him from how he was looking at him. John was oblivious though: John’s frozen form scanned the room, staring blankly past the camera with a nervous smile that came across coy and loving when passed through the camera lens.

Odd to imagine that that was the first real night of their relationship, where the snow and the nerves bubbled over until they admitted it wasn’t a farce anymore.

In contrast, something about the stale quality of the room as Martha walked around it with her read wine, like the dry summer heat before a storm, made this one feel like it was some sort of end.

John got home a few awkward platitudinous minutes later; Alex kept up the decorum of patience and knowing nods, ah my fiancé’s ex-wife and children, ah of course, Martha Manning and _Frances_. Alex wanted to ask how old Frances was, how often John saw her, and how old she’d been when John left. But he didn’t want to look like he didn’t know.

John’s face when he saw Martha sat opposite John was enough to nail the coffin closed. A part of Alex’s mind had tried to convince him that it was all a sham liable to be proved wrong the second John set foot in the door and declared he had never met this Martha Manning before. But one look at John’s face as he smiled resignedly at the woman held too much history. It was odd, and hadn’t happened much to Alex before, but for once he didn’t feel the need to talk. He knew all he needed to without having to ask.

“John was always so reticent with details, Martha. When did you two meet?”

“We don’t have to do this,” John said, quietly.

“Oh, but I want to.”

Martha looked at John beseechingly before turning to Alex. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. You two seem happy.”

“Do we?” Alex asked, and John flinched. He was being bitchy. “We are,” he said instead. “I just…”

“I’m sorry, Martha.”

Alex tried not to be offended that John offered Martha the apology first. After all, he did marry her first.

Not be bitter. Right. He could do that.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Alex asked.

“Thank you, Alex. But, I have to get back to Frances.”

“Of course, I understand. It must be hard raising a child on your own.”

“Alex—” John said but Martha’s lips curled up a little into a small smile.

“It has its adventures and its challenges. It was wonderful to meet you.” She stood up and Alex followed her lead. John was already stood, frozen, holding his briefcase. The image of his John standing in that familiar position was shaking. The routine they had been building up between the two of them had been settling into something good and for the first time Alex had felt like they were building something steady and permanent like an actual life or a family. Alex’s own memories of family were somewhat out of the norm and it the thought of building an authentic family of their own for the first time together had been exhilarating.

It turned out John had already done the family thing before. And rejected it. And left.

“Did I give you the date of the wedding?” Alex asked, for something to stop the words in his head.

Martha nodded. “Secretary Schuyler did.”

“You’re staying with Angie?”

“And John Church—I know him from the foreign office.”

“John Church,” Alex said, nodding. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet. You should all come to the practice reception – once we get it arranged. Weddings are more work than I thought they would be. And hey, there’s a Presidential election going on as well. Not much work really…But John’s done this all before, he should be leading me through this.”

Martha smiled sympathetic—and made a speedy exit. The door closed on her and John dropped his briefcase in time with the click of the lock.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Alex finally gave in and reached for Martha’s unfinished glass, downed it, then filled up his own glass. “You could tell me if you want a drink,” he pushed Martha’s glass towards John and poured it. “I’m sure you don’t mind sharing a glass. Now’s not the time to get fussy about sharing bodily fluids—”

“ _Alex_.”

“ _What_ John? What do you expect me to say?”

“I expect you to act like an adult.”

“What if I don’t feel like acting like an adult? Were you acting like an adult when you married a woman before you turned twenty, had a kid, and then left them both?”

“I never took you to be so judgemental.”

“I never took you to be the kind of person to walk out on their kid.”

John sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t relate me to my father. I am him”

“I’m not relating you to your father. I’m relating you to mine.”

There was a moment when Alex knew he’d said too much—John’s eyes widened, the penny dropped, and he wanted to suck the words back in and the rewind the whole night, put the wine back and re-cork the bottle, let Martha back in so she could break this silence.

John didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

To be honest, Alex didn’t know what he wanted him to say to that.

Alex sat down, forcing John to stand over him, reinforcing his extra height. John looked down though, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes widened. He looked a lot smaller than Alex, even standing at six foot he seemed to stoop.

“I don’t want to be like him,” John said in a quiet voice. It broke something inside of Alex and suddenly he was taking John’s hand and pulling him down to sit opposite him. The chair was probably still warm from when Martha had left it.

“I don’t think you,” Alex said. “I just—don’t know what happened with Frances. And that scares me. Because I’ve spend a lot of time hoping my dad is like I imagine him and dreading that he might be like I remember him and I don’t want another little kid out there to be thinking of you that way.”

John nodded but his eyes were watering slightly and Alex felt the fire simper down a little more inside him into more manageable flames. Something at the back of his mind raged that John didn’t deserve to be let off so soon, but also this wasn’t some random asshole off the street who’d ditched their kid and Alex was getting mad on their behalf. This was his John.

“I don’t want to presume anything,” John said, settling into the seat and fidgeting with his hands. He looked less like the tired handsome lawyer who walked through the door and more like the tired handsome fiancé Alex woke up next to. Some of the tension in Alex’s neck unwound, and he let himself relax a little in his seat. “My own family—was dysfunctional. You know my father remarried quickly after my mum—” he coughed and nodded. “And I felt left out of it with my siblings because my father made the differences apparent in what he did. I spent two decades not sure if I was trying to imitate my father or just please him. Fuck, I had sex with Martha because my father caught me flirting with a guy.”

“That’s—horrible,” Alex said, carefully.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t’ve—and I shouldn’t’ve let it continue but then there was Frances and my father would’ve’d me killed if I didn’t marry her then. Fuck, he didn’t even _like_ Martha. She was too opinionated and _left_ and loud and…” John trailed off and his accent dropped away with the last few words, like a new cover of paint washed off in an unexpected shower. He looked over at Alex a bit, a smile slipping onto his face for the first time since the start of his tirade.

“Does John Laurens have a type?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, male.”

Alex nodded. “Fair.”

“I know I wasn’t fair to Martha,” John sighed out the words and Alex nodded. “I’ve seen what a shit husband and father can do first hand. I’d already proven myself crap at the first job—failing at the second one seemed inevitable and I couldn’t let that happen. If—when you meet Frances you’ll realize what I mean.”

“I bet she’s wonderful,” Alex said very quietly, the words feeling necessary but like drinking a vial of poison—best to do it quickly and not let anyone notice. “You should tell me everything you want to about her and Martha. I’d like to hear.”

“Not tonight,” John said quickly before nodding minutely, “But, I’d like that too. Frances…I wish I could’ve seen more of her.”

“You could have,” Alex couldn’t help say. “No, listen, John, I—I know what it’s like to have a dad walk out and you don’t think “oh gee, glad he wasn’t here to screw up” you just wish that he could be there, whatever failures that he might bring with him. You don’t—I can’t make you understand that and I get why you did what you did but—”

He stood up and finished his second glass in a one sip. He put it down, distressed to notice his fingers were shaking.

“I’m going to go to Eliza’s for the night,” he said.

“Alex, no, please you can’t drive—”

“I’ll call a cab. I just need to not be here right now.”

There was a tightness in John’s face like a wound clock and it snapped, breaking on Alex’s words. John recoiled and leaned back in his chair. “Okay,” he said. “But you invited Martha to the practice reception dinner, that’s still true, right?”

“Did it end badly? Do you not want her there?”

“I mean you’re talking about the wedding still. You’re coming back tomorrow.”

“Of course I am, John,” Alex let out a sigh, looking down at the ground. “Of course.” Alex took a minute to compose himself from the shock and the raw honestly in John’s voice that he actually thought Alex was breaking it off, before looking back up. John looked so relieved Alex almost considered staying. Almost.

John offered him a small smile and finally gave Alex the apology he had so easily handed to Martha earlier. Maybe it meant more that he’d waited to make sure he meant it. Maybe it meant nothing at all.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Alex nodded, “I’m sorry too,” before pulling his phone out and calling a cab.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole conversation felt like a betrayal. If they knew what Alex had done, they would be by John’s side, ripping Alex apart, not here comforting him. He felt slightly sick.

“So John’s been married before?”

“Yes,” Alex said staring down into the mug of tea Mulligan handed him.

“And his ex-wife is staying here for the wedding?” Peggy asked. She was leaning against the wall looking relaxed but probably still hyper aware of the surroundings in Eliza and Mulligan’s living room.

“Yes.”

“And they have a daughter?” Eliza asked.

“Yes, Frances.”

Mulligan added another spoon of sugar to Alex’s tea, sympathetically. “That sucks, man.”

Peggy frowned. “How did this Manning woman find out where you and John live?”

Alex paused, looking cautiously at Eliza and Peggy’s matching frowns before admitting. “Martha and Frances came back from London with Angie. I guess she told her." Eliza’s eyes widened and Mulligan let out a low whistle but Alex was already shaking his head. "She was trying to help." 

“He’s going to need something stronger than tea,” Peggy told Mulligan. “Ang should’ve told us about this.”

“I have to go to work,” Alex stood up suddenly. “Don’t blame Angie for this—yeah, it would’ve been nice to have some forewarning Martha was coming, or that she existed at all—but it’s John who should’ve told me that.”

“Let’s not rush to blame John either,” Eliza said. Mulligan, Peggy, and Alex all turned to her in various degrees of shock. “You should hear him out.”

“He didn’t have an excuse,” Alex sighed. “He didn’t try and defend himself.”

“Well that should tell you something. John loves you.”

“Yeah,” Peggy interjected, frowning, “I may have not been back long but I’ve seen the way he looks at you and he’s too far gone. But if he didn’t want to hurt you then he should have told you about this. John knows this kind of thing would hurt you yet he hid it.”

“He’d never hurt me deliberately,” Alex said, not letting his voice waver. This whole conversation felt like a betrayal. If they knew what Alex had done, they would be by John’s side, ripping Alex apart, not here comforting him. He felt slightly sick. “While we’re all here talking about it together with you all comforting me, John’s alone and has been all night.” He turned to Eliza beseechingly, “please don’t say anything to him at work unless he does first.”

“And if he asks about you?” she asked, softly.

“Tell him I’ll be back tonight.”

Mulligan, who had remained silent for most of the conversation, turned to Alex, “will you?”

“Yes, of course,” Alex said, feeling a lot less certain than he sounded. “Where else would I go?”

 

* * *

 

Maria beat him to work, but luckily Peggy leaves him at the door today, picking up the phone and talking into it quickly and not in any language Alex knows.

“Rough night?” Maria asked.

“Nothing too bad. Just a—” he really didn’t want to tell her anything, especially as she might see John before he did. “I hear there’s a trial date?”

She rolled her eyes at the topic change and leaned back casually against her desk. “Laurens got it moved forward for me. He’s a good man.”

There was so much accusation in those four words but Alex couldn’t fault her for it. He considered telling her about John’s ex-wife who he abandoned and his daughter Frances who was probably around Susan’s age. But there was also an incredulity in Maria’s voice, as if she were surprised she could honestly say that about any man, and so Alex kept quiet.

“I’m glad he’s helping you.”

“He talks to me about you,” she said, quickly, her eyes flicking around the room to check no one was listening. Maria stands up, cigarette trousers accentuating the fuck off heels that clicked as she walked over to him, stopping less than a foot away. Not work appropriate distance. Her desk was outside his office, separate to the rest of the building though; they were safe. “Now and then, when he’s planning with me there he’ll tell me about something you said yesterday, or your ideas on planning the wedding.” She looked at his steadily, not breaking eye contact, her eyes moving to his lips but making no move to close the distance. “Laurens he—he has client smiles that I see sometimes when he’s working but when he’s talking about you…his face fucking lights up.”

“I never said I was a good man,” Alex said hollowly.

“But I thought you were.”

Alex huffed. Maria shook her head and took two steps back. “Maria, I’m sorry. I hope John screws your husband over for all he’s worth as quickly as possible. And I’m sorry for what I did.”

“What we did,” she corrected. “Don’t martyr yourself for me. I don’t want this getting out any more than you do.”

He flinched at that but if she noticed she ignored it. She signaled that the awkward half veiled conversation was over by walking around her desk and pulling up his calendar on her laptop. “You’ve got a meeting with the Republicans scheduled for in half an hour over in the main room. I didn’t know about that.”

“What?” he frowned, pulling up the same calendar on his phone to check she was right. “That wasn’t there this morning.”

Maria looked at her screen, furrowing her perfect eyebrows. “Aaron Burr put it in your calendar this morning. That would mean Burr has access to your calendar settings.” She looked up exasperated. “You gave the Republican VP candidate access to your cabinet meeting schedules?”

Alex really wanted to say that he hadn’t. But. He could imagine how well _I put him on there three years ago and assumed he had the decency to take himself off_ would hold up when explaining it to Washington. “He’s shown his hand by putting the meeting in. I’ll go along, find out what he knows. Then I’ll take him off it later tonight.”

Maria clicked decisively and her laptop binged. “Or I could take him off now. Really either work.”

“Maria. Don’t do anything else, I can handle this.” He tried for reassuring but her single raised eyebrow told him he’d missed the mark.

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

 

* * *

 

The meeting was not part of his plan for the day, but Alex needed to stop this whilst he still only smelt of a mess and wasn’t dragging a pungent smell into the White House. It would be best if none of this ever got back to Washington, obviously. If Alex was smart about this, then he could probably do that. It was only Burr. He’d been dealing with Burr since grad school and had always come out on top.

Not one to stall, he refused to stall for a collecting breath before opening the door—without knocking—to the conference room written in the calendar appointment, five minutes early.

The door closed behind him.

It wasn’t just Burr.

“Mr Speaker, Senator Madison,” Alex nodded at both of them in turn before glaring at the room’s one expected occupant. “Senator Burr.”

“Alexander,” Burr smiled, all teeth, and no feeling, “You might want to sit down.”

“What is this?”

Jefferson stood up letting his full height tower of Alex. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.”

Madison sighed and stayed seated. His height would hardly have had the same impact. “We have proof that yours and Mr Laurens’ relationship is a publicity stunt.”

“You can’t have proof of that.”

“Why not?” Madison asked politely—holding out a hand to stop Jefferson who resorted to sneering instead. A wonderful choice for the future President, _the Republicans have outdone themselves again_ Alex thought.

“Because it’s a load of crap.”

“Alexander,” Burr let the last two syllables hang in the air placating. “We’re all busy people, we don’t have time for deliberation. We all know what we know.”

“You don’t know shit, Burr.”

“Ooh,” Jefferson’s laugh could easily have been mistaken for a seven-year-old schoolyard bully’s, or a southern James Bond villain. “You crack me up, Hamilton. Let’s get down to the facts. When you put on that for me and James that morning you’d never met lover boy before—or maybe you had and you’d planned the whole thing behind his daddy’s back? Wanted to get one over on poor Senator Laurens maybe?”

“It doesn’t count as facts if you’re still hypothesizing,” Alex bit back. He tried to ignore the weight of Burr’s gaze. He tried to remember all the conversation’s he’d had with Burr about his relationship with John at the beginning; he tried to remember exactly how much he divulged.

Jefferson’s eyes widened and he faked a slow applause. “Well done, but not good enough. How about another fact for y’all?”

“Thomas,” Madison said warningly, perhaps noticing the tension in Jefferson’s hand splayed on the table, or the way he was angling himself to stand in front of Madison who was still sat down.

“How about we talk about your so-called fiancé’s client Mrs Reynolds? You’d hardly be the first person to fall in love with your secretary.”

“ _What_?” Alex spun around and Burr raised his hands, whilst the other two leaned back.

“Alexander, we already know,” Burr said, soothingly.

“Cute story,” Jefferson butted in, making the word cute sound like an insult. “Tired politician fakes relationship for voters’ support. Gets bored. Meets hot new secretary. Gets less bored…”

Alex lunged forward and it was only Burr’s fingers, closing around his arm that stopped him.

“ _Alexander_.” On the other side of the room, Madison was saying something quietly to Jefferson. “What do you think this is going to achieve?”

“I could ask you the same thing. All you have are lies.”

“Everyone likes a good rumor,” Burr sighed resigned. “And the Reynolds affair is more than rumor. The weekend Laurens went down to South Carolina…” Burr trailed off pointedly and Alex felt the floor open under him. Jefferson smirked, catching his falter.

“I worked late that weekend, got sick with worry, and then went to join John on the Sunday.”

Jefferson drawled, “And somewhere in the middle of all that you stayed the night at your secretary’s house whilst her husband was away on business.”

“James Reynolds is an abusive waste of space.”

Jefferson shrugged the information off with a smile. “So that makes it okay to cheat on your supposed fiancé with his wife?”

Alex was about to snap back but held back. “That weekend. I had new security.” Mulligan had been on his honeymoon and it had been before they were assigned the secret service increase and Peggy. “Want to brag which of your men you got under my nose?”

“Alas I’m gonna keep that to myself,” Jefferson gave a carefully weighed smile. “I’m not as clueless as I act.”

“Thank goodness for the Republican party.”

Jefferson started forward but Madison put a hand on his arm.

“What do you want?” Alex asked, trying to not let the tension and exhaustion he felt trickle into his voice.

Madison blinked twice owlishly. “We want you to announce that your relationship with John Laurens was and still is fake.”

“Is isn’t fake now,” he said. Then froze. Madison raised an eyebrow.

“I assume that means it was at some point? It would be good for the public to know that—going into an election—their cabinet was made of honorable men and women. The Maria Reynolds information will be in their hands shortly if you don’t announce your deceit with Laurens.”

“Alternatively Washington could always step down and we’d let both things be,” Jefferson sat down and stretched his arms out, resting his head on the triangle of his hands above his head. “But that doesn’t seem all that likely.”

“Fuck off, Jefferson.”

Jefferson put his hand to his heart in mock anguish. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you if you’ve got nothing nice to say it’s best to say nothing at all?” He tutted. For a second Alexander saw red and snapped his mouth shut, feeling his blush rising.

Luckily, Madison stepped forwards, eyeing his friend with a mildly disapproving look. “It’s down to you, Hamilton. I hope you make the right choice for everyone. Thomas, let’s go.” Madison walked out without adieu leaving Jefferson to sneer as he stalked past in his wake and then it was only Burr and Alex.

“I never would’ve believed it, Alexander,” Burr said, sounding almost gleeful. “Good luck getting out of this one.”

Alex decided it would be bad form to tell a Presidential and a Vice Presidential candidate to fuck off in one meeting so said nothing. Burr left soon after and Alexander was left alone in the room, wondering how to fix what had just happened.

 

* * *

 

Either way, Maria or John was going to kill him. Or perhaps Washington.

Speak of the devil—although maybe that was the wrong way to think of the President of the United States—Hamilton’s phone vibrated in his pocket; incoming call from Washington.

“Sir, I don’t know what you heard but I’m sorting it.”

“I didn’t hear anything directly,” Washington said, “and I hope it remains that way. A source told me you had a sudden meeting with three high up Republicans then made a meeting with Madison’s office straight after leaving that meeting. It sounded circumspect so I looked into it. Mind telling me what happened?”

“I’m handling it, sir.”

“I’m sure you are. That’s what’s worrying me, my boy.”

“I can handle Jefferson and Madison. They brought Burr to try and make me concentrate on him—they were goading me about the fake relationship rumors again. It’s Madison who’s the brains behind it, he stayed far too quiet—and Jefferson is the face of it. Burr is the distraction. Thank you for your concern, but believe that I know how to handle this.”

“It’s late in the day, Alexander.”

“I would never do anything to jeopardize the campaign, sir.” He hoped it wasn’t a lie, running over his plan in his head. “Thank you again for your concern.” He hung up and hoped he wouldn’t be arrested for treason.

His phone rang again almost instantly and he groaned before picking it up.

“Sir, I know what I’m doing,” he said testily.

“Alex, it’s me.”

“Oh.” Alex slowed down and walked towards the nearest bench, folding down onto it. He settled back, bending his knee to get one of his feet up on the bench. Who cares who saw? Some people looked as they walked by, but none stopped, either used to his eccentricities through exposure or scared of him due to the rumors and lack of exposure. He held the phone close to his ear and let his hair fall down over it, muffling his “Hi.”

“I’m back from work early. I—should I make dinner for two?” John asked.

He wanted to say yes, but he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve John feeling guilty when Alex was the one who’d screwed up more here. He should come clean now, before anyone else does. But the words didn’t come and instead he nodded before realizing John couldn’t see.

“No,” he said and heard John’s sharp intake of breath before he corrected himself. “I’ll pick something up for us and bring it back.”

“You’re sure?”

A year into the Washington Administration Alex and John had convinced themselves they didn’t have that much work to do and have entertained the thought of adopting a dog. They’d found an overly eager puppy called Quince at the pound who had wagged its tail a mile a minute. It turned out the puppy had already been reserved and the disappointment jarringly put both of them off the idea for a while. The work load increased and they never mentioned it again but sometimes Alex thought about it and remembered how damn eager that puppy had looked and how wrong it had felt to walk away without taking it home with them.

John sounded that hopeful now and Alex felt a similar but painfully amplified stab of guilt.

“I know I should’ve told you,” John said quickly.

“John, you don’t need to justify this now.”

John sighed. “I’ve spent the ride home and the last half an hour judging every decision I’ve made up to this point in my life.”

Alex shrugged, forgetting he couldn’t see. “They led me to you, didn’t they? Have to have been a little worth it.”

John sucked in a sudden breath. “ _Thank_ you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Alex fidgeted a little to hide his reaction and made sure his voice was level before speaking. “I’ll be home within the hour and we can—talk.”

“That sound’s…reasonable…okay?”

“Okay,” Alex echoed and hung up before the exclusion of the usual final three words became too painful. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean them still, because he did and would to the end of this horror show and beyond. Alex knew John would say them too though. And Alex didn’t deserve to hear those words right now.  


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse and this time it's not John's fault

It was over a week since John came home to find Martha Manning sat at his table. John met Lafayette for lunch just out of town.

“He knows everything now,” John stirred his soup dejectedly, “and he just seems so distant. He said he was okay with us still, the wedding’s still on, but he’s working longer and longer hours.”

Lafayette sipped his coffee and hummed.

“Any advice?” John’s voice went up, frazzled at the end.

Carefully, Lafayette put down his drink. The baby blue tiny mug looked ever smaller in his large hands, like a duck egg nestled between his fingers. John focused on that rather than on Lafayette saying: “The wedding is still on.”

“I’m not sure why,” John interjected. “He must hate me.”

“Our Alexander is capable of many things. Hating you is not one of them and I don’t believe it could be.”

“I lied to him.”

Lafayette raised his shoulders then dropped them dramatically—it was too purposeful and poised to be called a shrug. More like a dance move or part of a runway model’s routine. “People lie, John. And you did it in the most benign way. It is not as if you are still married, or as if you see Frances and have failed to invite him. It is the past and something you regret, _bien sûr_ , but is not, how you say, a deal breaker.”

“But it’s worse because I wasn’t there for her—I haven’t been there for Frances. Alex—” John took a steadying breath as the memory rushed back in, “he compared me to his father. Accused me of abandoning her. Which I did.”

A frown creased Lafayette’s brow. “It was a joint agreement for you to leave though, no? Your Martha thought it best as well. She had moved on to another woman.”

“They’re not together anymore,” he justified. “And she’s not my anything.”

“Then I see no problem. Make that clear to your Alex.”

John nodded but couldn’t shake away the memory of Alex’s words. “Angelica’s invited the Mannings to the wedding. Frances will be there.”

“And Alex will love her and you will meet your daughter and gain a husband. I see no issue. I am sure our Alex only needs a little time.”

Time.

“We don’t have much of that. We already set the date.”

“And the invitations were beautiful, my congratulations.”

“I…yeah, I did them. Alex wanted them to be plain white. Or for us to make a calendar or a Facebook event to save money. Claimed save the dates were unneeded and the whole fanfare of the wedding planning business was capitalist daylight burglary. Said it was all excessive.” John rolled his eyes. “It’s not excessive to want nice things.”

“It is if you are used to being without. It was good of you to make the invites so he didn’t have to.”

John snapped his head up to look at Lafayette, but his friend’s eyes held no judgement or bitterness to accompany the words.

Lafayette had known John for longer than their other friends and had a brilliant ability to hold the contradictory ideas of John always meaning well even when he seriously put his foot in it. If John ever stepped off course, if his upbringing snuck out in a way he’d never even considered problematic, Lafayette would reel him in, gently pointing out his error whilst complimenting him on something else. It happened so seamlessly and quickly that for a minute afterwards, John would wondered if he’d imagined Lafayette’s reprimanding words, or if Lafayette had misspoken.

But this time, like always, Lafayette simply pushed out his bottom lip. “I am only suggesting. I do not know little Alex’s mind like you do.”

“I used to,” John muttered.

“You still do, _mon ami_. You two are going through a confusing time, no? It has all been a rush since your father passed and orchestrating a wedding and a re-election at the same time is—ah, ambitious.”

John nodded. “He’s probably just stressed.”

“I’m sure it would help if you sit down and talk about it.”

“We did. And it got us nowhere. I made us hot chocolate and he got take out, and I put on the old turtle slippers, you remember—” John stopped and took a deep breath. He was in public with his friend. He was still in the Capital and anyone could be watching. He was not going to cry. His long curls had fallen in front of his face and he looked up through them at Lafayette. Quietly, like admitting to starting a war, he said: “What if we’re just not the same anymore?”

Instead of offering sympathy, Lafayette scoffed.

“Of course you are not the same. It has been three years. But also you are probably more similar than you imagine.”

“Thanks, Rafiki,” John rolled his eyes. He sighed into his empty mug. “I’ll get us another drink.” John walked to the counter and heard the bell ring signalling another customer followed by the sound of a young girl’s laughter. “Hey,” he stepped up to the counter and said his and Lafayette’s order. The dulcet tones of the lunchtime rush were tuned out until her heard a familiar voice say his name.

John turned around to see a very shocked Martha, holding the hand of a young girl with pigtails of plushy curls. The girl was smiling, looking around the busy café like it was worlds away from what she knew. Which might be true, he realized. D.C. wasn’t known for its lack of people.

The barista shouted his name three times before he snapped back into himself and turned around to collect the drinks. Martha stepped up to the counter, still looking shell-shocked. The girl was looking up at Martha with a wide eyed concern.

“What’s wrong, mum?” She sounded sure of herself, ready to comfort her mother. The British accent was jarringly against the backdrop of Middle American dialects.

“Nothing,” Martha said breaking eye contact with John to smile down at her daughter—their daughter, his sinking stomach helpfully provided—reassuringly “I just wasn’t expecting to see John here. This is John, honey. This is your father.”

John turned to the girl—Frances Manning-Laurens—and tried to look like the sort of father he wished he was rather than the bubbling mesh of nerves and fears that he felt.

“Hi Frances,” John said.

Suddenly, Lafayette was at his elbow taking the hot drinks off of him before he could drop them. “And who might this be?”

Frances smiled hesitantly. John thought she might lean into her mother or shy away at the bombardment of new people but Frances instead smiled at him—and fuck, she was adorable. “Is this Alex?” she asked openly, her eyes wide and earnest.

“What?”

Lafayette laughed. “No, I am Lafayette, John and Alex’s friend. It is a pleasure to meet you, chouchou, I have heard wonderful things about you. John says you are an artist in the making?”

John couldn’t remember telling Lafayette than exactly, but did recall a drunken conversation that perhaps involved a few tears after receiving a scan of a drawing of a turtle she’d drawn for his birthday last year. He had told her they were his favorites and sent her a cuddly one for her fifth birthday. She remembered this kinds of thing. Or Martha did and prompted her. But the messy line drawing had been all Frances. And John had never seen anything as beautiful. He kept it in between the pages of his own sketchbook.

Frances blushed at Lafayette’s words but didn’t back down and in fact let go of her mother’s hand. Martha was watching the exchange tentatively glancing between the three of them, shooting John warning looks as she paid for hers and Frances order.

“Table?” the barista asked.

“Oh, send them to ours,” Lafayette smiled, waving his hand. “Come, we have room.”

Frances followed him immediately and Martha fell into step with John, hanging back.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she promised.

“I know.”

“I thought it was out of town enough.”

“I don’t like running into politicians or people who might know us. Laf and I meet out here. He’ll be good with Frances too, he’s good with…people.”

“Us not so much,” she added. She looked at him intensely, searching for something in his expression. “I don’t want to rub anything in.”

“You’re not—I—it’s great to meet here. She’s amazing. You’ve done amazing.”

“I know I have. Neither of us deserve her,” she added.

“You do.”

Instead of answering she changed the subject, leading them over to the table where Lafayette was showing Frances pictures of his son on his phone.

“He brings those out whenever he can,” he filled the silence, about to sit down when she spoke again.

“I hope everything’s going to be okay with Alex. You two seem to love each other a lot. I’m sorry this all had to come out. I hope I didn’t lead to any of it—I never wanted to mess this up for you.”

John shook his head. “Alex was going to find out about you and Frances eventually. I should’ve told him beforehand. How else could I ever be a part of Frances life I—I accept I don’t deserve to be? But Alex would…love her,” he admitted it like a secret. It wasn’t until he said the words that he realized how true it was and how much he wanted to let Alex get to know this confident, blazing star of a little girl who he’d somehow helped to create. John had been a mess back then. He couldn’t understand how something as wonderful as Frances could come from his and Martha’s charade.

Martha wasn’t smiling anymore though and concern had colored her face. She sat down, between Lafayette and John, opposite her daughter, and stared worriedly at John.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean I’m sorry everything else had to come out—that you had to admit that. And I hope people weren’t digging because of us.”

“Digging for what?” John frowned.

“You don’t know.”

Lafayette was also paying attention by this point and his frown mirrored John’s. It seemed Frances had also been listening and shrugged in her chair, her hair bouncing as she did.

“It’s cute,” she said, surely, as if it were an indisputable fact. John didn’t know what she meant was cute though and felt an edge of something like static prick on the edge of his mind, rushing forwards into his thoughts. “Is this where you met?”

“This café?” John asked. “No.”

“Oh,” her face fell a little.

“He asked me to marry him at a café further in town,” he said, carefully. John felt unreasonably calm but Martha looked sick, Frances was frowning, and Lafayette was even looking worried.

“No,” Frances said, her accent accentuating the word and making it sharper, longer, like a punchline to a joke. “I meant is this where he asked you to pretend to be his boyfriend.”

Frances looked at him expectantly whilst Martha cringed, and Lafayette choked on his drink. Martha pulled out her phone and slid it across to him, open to a news page on the fake dating scandal of the Secretary of the Treasury. The article had all the information completely correct, the date, the reason, the past relationship with Madison, how long they lied for and to whom. Shit. John scrolled back to the top of the page and checked the by-line. It was written by Alexander Hamilton.

“I have to go,” he said, grabbing his coat and keys, pushing the phone back at his ex-wife, and trying to ignore the deepening pit inside his mind. He wasn’t mad or angry, he couldn’t even understand it. Walking outside of the café he knew well, trying to find his car, John Laurens stopped in the cooling breeze—the edge of autumn coming for them—and felt undeniably and unbearably lost.

 

* * *

 

Their flat was a conundrum: a circle of mess and a chaos of papers thrown down in perfect stillness around the centre point of his frozen fiancé sat in the middle of the mess. He was sat next to a pillow, as if he’d brought it to sit on then instantly forgot.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said, not looking up, his eyes averted to the window as if trying to escape the mess of writings and the tangled charger wires of both their laptops spread across the floor, reaching him like the spider at a centre of a web. “I had to.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Otherwise they’d’ve—made it worse.”

“How much worse?” John’s voice did not break. The end of them was not the end of the world. His voice did not break. “Who’s they? Is this the—the meeting you had with Madison—”

“He gave me some more time. Kept it out of the press so I could write it myself.”

“What a fucking saint.”

“It was the only way I could protect the campaign. They would’ve turned it on Washington. Wanted him to quit.”

“Oh. So the campaign is more important than this is it? Or do you mean your job?” John tried to steady his voice and his anger and remind himself that nothing was over they were fine. But watching Alex struggling to find words for the first time, sat in a circle of his writing, refusing to meet John’s eyes—

It felt a lot like an ending.

To what, John wasn’t sure, and frankly, didn’t want to know.

“Don’t you think this might be bad for the campaign anyway? You’ve proven yourself a two faced liar.”

Alex flinched at that. Good. Any reaction was good right now; it proved he was in the room with John, listening, taking this is, understanding what he’d done. Alex’s laptop was binging with twitter notifications and news articles were coming through on John’s. John wondered idly if they were trending on Twitter again. The last time that had happened it had been due to his father, throwing the worst things he could at John to make him hurt the most. This time it had been Alex who threw the words out there.

“I said that I loved you,” Alex said, quietly. “I explained it—developed.”

“You told the left that their queer idols had faked it. And you told the Right that everything they assumed about how fickle we could be was true. You screwed up so badly and _fuck you_ —don’t even realize—”

John was going to scream if he stayed a second longer. He picked up his briefcase and his coat. “I’m going to the office until this passes over. Deal with it—talk to the press team—and Greene and get Maria to work through the night fixing it or whatever it is you do when you turn this things around to suit you just—” John tried to take his customary deep breath but it caught in his throat and rattled. “Don’t tell me about it until it’s done.”

He turned around and didn’t allow himself to look back at Alex. It would hurt too much to leave if Alex had finally broken eye contact with the window and was looking at him. But it would hurt too much to stay if Alex had not. John left without a backwards glance.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reynolds case goes to court.

“We got you the fault base divorce,” he explained. Maria nodded, not meeting his eye. “We got the restraining order passed. Susan’s safe with you now. We can do the trial. It’s the last part—his defense—which will be non-existent. You have someone you and Susan can go, right?”

“I have some cousins out of state who can help,” she said, mechanically. “I’ve been staying in a hotel.”

“You can still request alimony. It might look odd that you didn’t—”

“I don’t want anything else from James.”

“Okay,” he said, looking back down at the sheave of papers in front of him. The defense had nothing on the case they had put forward together. John was still in awe of Maria—Maria Lewis now, or at least soon to be once the paperwork passed. A change of name and suddenly on paper you’re free. It didn’t work like that of course, but it was something. “This’ll be one of the last times you’ll have to see him. You can still choose to not be present if you want to—”

“If I go in there and do this it’ll mean he doesn’t get to see Susan again.” Her hair was up, casually pulled back from her face, accentuating the lines of her navy suit. There were no cracks in her façade except for the intense look she shot him quickly. A question, and a threat.

“I can’t guarantee—”

“But it’ll help me and her,” she said, nodding to herself already. “I understand everything Mr Laurens. Thank you, but this is my choice. I’m ready.”

 

* * *

  

Alex had called him in a panic the day before the trial. Surprisingly, he’d actually remembered that the case was coming to trial tomorrow.

“Can we talk?” Alex had asked at the same time as John said “I’m not ignoring you.”

Alex let out a half laugh. “So the answer will be yes, hopefully?”

John hesitated. There was a difference between not actively ignoring, and agreeing to see him face to face for an actual talk about their relationship. Serious discussion were not his forte. Getting drunk and making mistakes? A good plan. John had thought the wedding had brought enough serious conversations and decisions that nothing else would ever phase him. But this.

Their relationship now was like a slowly sinking ship; John and Alex took turns between one of them frantically throwing buckets of water back overboard whilst the other one played the oblivious captain, trying to continue on their course. Today was John’s day to be the oblivious captain. He didn’t want Alex to point out the leak, however small it might be, and how quickly the water was coming in.

“I—I know I fucked up telling everyone we faked it.”

“We didn’t fake it—not after the first week”

“I know that’s what I was trying to convey. If I’d let JefferBurr run with their version it would’ve dragged us through the mud. Madison as good as accused us of still faking it. It’s just a campaign strategy to them. They’d do anything for their careers.”

“That’s rich from you,” John said, before he could filter himself. “I didn’t see you at home too often at the beginning of this campaign.”

Alex scoffed—slightly taken aback but not countering him. Good; it wouldn’t have gone well for him if he tried. Instead, Alex reminded John once again how brilliant he was at the guilt trip, and used John’s words against him.

“I haven’t seen you at home too often this week.”

“I’m working late nights at the office.” It sounded like a bad excuse because it was one. “I came back in the day on Wednesday,” you were at work he wanted to add, guilt creeping in. And Alex knew that already, could infer that it was the only reason he had gone home. “I stayed with Eliza and Herc one night.”

“I know,” Alex said, quietly. So he’d been checking up on him. John wasn’t sure if he was touched or annoyed. “I need to explain some things,” Alex said. When John didn’t respond, Alex sighed in defeat: “Please John.”

“Look, I understand why you did the article, it’s just—hard right now whilst I can still see the repercussions.”

“I know.”

“Eliza had to get extra security at the office because of the press. No one was ever in any danger, but we had to make sure clients felt safe.”

He was rambling; John paused and looked down at his trial notes that he was supposed to be going over. The bastard was going to go down and would never be allowed to see Susan or Maria ever again. He owed them the proper time spent on their case. But he already knew them back to front by now.

“I’ll come round at eight. Don’t cook. I’ll bring Chinese.”

“I’ll make sure there’s milk in.”

“Milk?” John paused in his re-reading of the papers.

“For hot chocolate of course. See you at eight.”

Alex hung up before John could counter him. His voice had been so happy, hopeful, if frantic, and John hoped he hadn’t thrown Alex a false lifeline. He also hoped Alex had a really good explanation ready for tonight, and remembered to buy whipped cream for the top.

 

* * *

 

When they called James Reynolds up to testify and John was invited to question his defense, John briefly regretted becoming a lawyer. It was frowned upon for attorneys to punch witnesses after all. If he’d been a bystander the most he would have got was kicked out—perhaps he might have been held in contempt of court. But to see the smirk knocked off Reynolds’ face—and to see his stupid quirky hat knocked from his head—it probably would have been worth it.

Instead, John regulated his breathing and tried to put everything out of his mind accept for the facts, laws, and information he needed to rip this man apart. He stepped forwards. The questions, what he needed to do for Maria, for everyone, to prove that he was worthy of the trust people gave him when they hired him. To prove that he was actually good at this. That he wasn’t faking everything in his life.

“Mr Reynolds,” he started, “would you call yourself a good husband?”

 

* * *

 

When the press continually tells you you’ve faked everything it becomes harder to convince yourself that you were ever anything but a fake.

John tried to ignore it, to tune out the news feeds and the questions. The reporters who he knew his assistant were fielding calls from every hour. Probably he should apologize to Eliza about all the extra phone traffic and the inconvenience of it. He had tried to bring it up on the first day, but when she learned he had been in the office all night—a blanket not moved off the couch soon enough—she was adamant he would not be allowed to apologize.

“You should stay at ours tonight.”

“Eliza, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not taking sides John. I’m saying that you work with me and you won’t work as well with back pain and a cricked neck. Obviously it would be best for you and Alex to talk this out to see each other’s sides but as that doesn’t seem likely I am offering you our spare room for as long as you need it.”

John allowed himself a half smile. “Why do I feel like there’s a time limit on ‘as long as you need’?”

She pouted then shrugged. “If it goes over a week I’ll probably stick you two in a room and make you talk about it. I’ll put my husband on the door.”

“I think you’d be plenty enough to scare us into staying in the room.”

Eliza looked as if she might laugh, then nodded firmly instead. “Then try not to let it come to that.”

 

* * *

 

“Fine,” Reynolds snapped less than ten minutes in. The evidence had stacked against him pretty neatly building a sturdy building. Reynolds leered as if it were a Jenga tower he was about to knock down. “I might not be a good husband. But she certainly ain’t a model wife.”

John felt the anger boil up inside him. He deferred to the judge and got Reynolds reprimanded then continued with the evidence, trying to talk passionately whilst not making it too emotive. It wasn’t right for Reynolds to go after Maria now. It was already clear Reynolds was an abusive piece of shit—or a reprehensible human being as the lawyer in him had gone for, but now he reminded the court of Reynold’s blackmailing and his infidelities, oh how shit he was as a husband.

John tried to remember that Maria was behind him—he let his questions cut harsher and deeper rather than throwing any unwanted spotlight on her, until his line of questioning was barely standing on propriety. Reynolds’ lawyer—and how he’d mustered the funds for that John really wanted to know—sat motionless and let John’s furious questioning stand.

For a moment, John felt victorious, and turned to offer Maria a carefully contained look to let her know it was under control. Maria looked sick; she wasn’t looking at Reynolds, but at him.

John thought back his own emotions and carried on, pushing forwards in case Reynolds tried to push back. After everything, he would not lose this now.

 

* * *

 

It had seemed like Alex was holding his tongue. John wasn’t used to it. The Chinese food was going cold.

“I can’t stay up late. I have the trial tomorrow. Reynolds takes the stand.”

“Have you got him on blackmail and money laundering as well as abuse charges?” Alex asked.

John halted. “Haven’t heard any specifics about money laundering. Got the other two. The former, less so. We won’t need it.”

“Is that the lawyer we?” Alex tried to joke. “The law and you?”

“Maria and I.”

Again, Alex held back his words. It looked like a struggle to contain them, after he spent so much time saying whatever, whenever. The look on his face might have been comically if it were less unnerving. John remembered seeing the same look when Alex came down to South Carolina to propose, and when he came home after the meeting with the Republicans two weeks ago. When the article came out John assumed that was all their secrets in the open and the end of Alex’s locked mouth.

John skipped any more pleasantries in favor of starting the inevitable conversation half way through.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he led with.

“What?”

“The problem was how I found out that you were going public with it. We could’ve talked about it. Done it together. I’m not the least impulsive person in the world myself, you know. I just would’ve liked to have my fiancé ask me before throwing our relationship history to the press hounds.”

“I know, but it felt like there wasn’t any time. Everyone was relying on him, and with the wedding…” he trailed off then an odd look crossed his face. His eyes were as wide and amazing and earnest as ever when Alex said, “D’you know, that’s the first time you’ve called me your fiancé since the article came out.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, then groaned. “I told myself I wouldn’t apologize first.”

“Well I’m sorry second,” Alex said.

“I just wish you’d told me. You have to see—you can’t deal with these things alone anymore. That’s what the whole marriage thing is about, isn’t it?”

Alex nodded slowly.

They were standing at stalemate, across the table from each other in their apartment—Alex’s old apartment. The same one John moved in to three years ago. Alex looked like there was a whirlwind of things John was missing and they were all swirling in his mind.

“What is it, Alex?” he asked, quietly. _Please tell me_ , he thought, _whatever it is, it can’t be worse than this._

“John?”

“Yes, Alex?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

 

* * *

 

“Can I speak now? My wife isn’t as innocent as you think—she was having an affair.”

John frowned. “Objection, your honor. This is likely untrue and definitely irrelevant.”

“Mr Reynolds is on oath, I am sure it is not untrue,” the judge said warningly. “However, this is not the point of this case.”

“It’s an issue though—he’s biased!”

“Who?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Laurens. Can’t be her lawyer if he’s biased, right?”

“What bias do you claim Mr Laurens has in this case towards his client?”

“Not towards. Against,” Reynolds grinned and it was like a fox that knew it had backed its prey into a corner. For the first time John felt icy settle in his stomach instead of fire. Whatever Reynolds was about to throw at him, he seemed sure enough of it to derail the case with it.

“Don’t listen to him,” Maria hissed.

The judge silenced her and turned back to Reynolds.

“Are you accusing Mr Laurens of misconduct?”

Reynolds laughed. “Oh no, he’d never accuse an upright gay man like him. Mr Laurens doesn’t really seem Maria’s type, does he? It’s his fiancé my wife went for.”

There was a beat and Reynold’s smile spread. The judge was not quick enough to interrupt. So just in case it wasn’t already clear to the whole room, Reynolds laid out the crude narrative.

“I’m saying Alexander Hamilton decided to fuck my wife,” Reynolds turned to the court reporter, “if you wanted it on the record.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex tells John.

It started the night before the Reynolds case went to court. This week had been one of the worst of Alex’s life, without John, and he couldn’t risk that becoming the norm but—what John wanted was honesty. And that wasn’t what he’d been giving him.

A small part of his mind, perhaps it was the rational part, perhaps it was the selfish corner, told him that this might ruin everything. But then again, Alex had always known he make the crack that would splinter them apart. John and he had built a perfect relationship unknowingly out of glass and Alex was about to shatter it.

Maybe he’d be able to fix it.

He could write his way out of this—and keep his job and John and keep Washington in power. Honesty. That was all it would take.

“John?” he said his name as a question.

“Yes, Alex?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

 

* * *

 

“Last week I received a letter from James Reynolds.”

“Maria’s ex-husband? The same twat for brains, Reynolds who I’m going to rip apart in court tomorrow?”

John’s eye belied his confusion but his tone was jovial, as if he could sense already that Alex was taking this conversation somewhere deep that he didn’t want to follow and he was trying to swim them both up to the surface.

“Yeah, one and the same. But he was—trying to blackmail me, I think?”

At that John froze, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle in the way Alex always found adorable. Now it just made him feel overwhelmingly guilty for what he was about to put on the other man.

“He wasn’t very good at it,” Alex continued. “Too veiled—realized I’m kind of hard guy to mess with when the secret service is probably reading our mail.”

“D’you think the secret service listen to our phone calls?” John mused, sitting down on the edge of the table and idly picking at the long gone cold Chinese takeout.

“Probably.”

John took a large bite of Chow Mein and grimaced. “They do not get paid enough.”

Suddenly, Alex could not remember why he had ever been mad at this man about something as small as Martha and Francis—they could overcome it, together. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe it was Alex projecting what John should do when he finally got the words out.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Is it an explanation for why you published information about the start of our relationship and made people question the most important thing in my life?” John’s voice didn’t wobble but his eyes were thunderous. “D’you have any idea what people’ve been asking me this week? If I ever even loved you—it’s been hell. “

“John I cheated on you.”

John froze. Blinked twice. “Excuse me?”

“I said I cheated—”

“I heard what you said.”

John tried to put down his fork carefully but he lost his grip on it and it clattered down onto the plate. Alex rushed forwards to catch it, to do something, anything—but John’s hand flinched away. Like a whirlwind, everything was coming crushing in and Alex wished he could’ve done this in a letter.

“It was months ago, and just one night, we didn’t even have—”

“No,” John shook his head slowly and Alex felt like his world was being thrown off its axis.

“John. James Reynolds knows—it was with—”

“ _Stop talking._ ”

Alex shut up for all of ten seconds. He counted in seventeens back from a hundred and seventy. John slowly turned away from him and started eating again, meticulously eating small bites, carefully not leveling his eyes away from the table. Bite by bite, he stared at the offending food and ate it methodically, as if he couldn’t taste it.

“I’m telling you I cheated on you.”

“And I’m eating my dinner, Alex.”

“I cheated when you were away at your father’s funeral—when you were at your most vulnerable—”

“Stop trying to get an angry reaction out of me so you can feel justified,” John snapped. “You don’t get to dictate if I’m fucking furious or if I’m hurt,” he had another mouthful then pushed the carton away. “Don’t talk about how I was at my most vulnerable when you’re telling me you slept with your secretary and did nothing to get her out her abusive marriage.”

“I sent her to Eliza and you. And I didn’t sleep with her.”

“You really don’t need to go into the specifics.”

“It was only a kiss—and a bit more—one night—it was the only time and I’m telling you now—“

“Three months afterwards because her ex-husband blackmailed you the day before I have to question him in court.” John let out a short sharp laugh. “And hour ago I thought I hated him more than anyone and now I’m not even sure.”

“John—“

His fiancé—Alex was going to use the term whilst he still could—his fiancé damn it, stood up abruptly. “I’m going to bed and tomorrow I’m going to defend Maria because she deserves it. And after that when she is free of Reynolds and he’s behind bars. Then we will talk about this.”

“Don’t take any of this out on Maria, it’s not her fault—”

“I know full well it’s not her fault,” John swiveled around so he was facing him, but looked somewhere a few inches to the left of him and over his head. The height difference had never been as annoying as now when John steadfastly, justifiably, refused to meet his eyes. “You’re a thirty-year-old man. She’s a twenty-three year old with a toddler and an abusive ex-husband. She also happens to work for you. Of course she wanted a way out and would take it if she saw it. Tell me you didn’t take advantage of that—”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then please, tell me what it was fucking like, Alex. Tell me how much you enjoyed ruining this.”

_This._

Alex wanted to take back the last thirty minutes, or maybe the last three months, or the last three years. He wanted John to not know how worthless he was, how much he could mess up.

_Tell me how much you enjoyed ruining this._

 “I can’t,” his voice broke and John was nodding before the second syllable was fully formed.

“I have court in the morning, and you have a cabinet meeting. Let’s not—talk or try to make things better right now.”

_Tell me how much you enjoyed ruining us._

* * *

 

That night, unsurprisingly, Alex did not sleep. John woke up early and Alex heard him leave—he agreed to stay the night, to not drive back to Eliza’s again for the seventh time in a row, and that had to count for something. Trying to force John into their room, Alex slept in the guest room. But when he came out in the morning after hearing the door hastily closed and double locked as John left, he realized John had slept on the couch. Neither of them slept in their bedroom.

Fittingly it seemed right. That was their bed for when they were together. Alex would never admit it to John, but he hadn’t slept in it all week, couldn’t without the familiar weight of the man he loved next to him.

Odd. How things change.

It wasn’t news to Alex that life threw curve-balls and suddenly everything you loved had stepped an inch to the side and fallen off the precipice out of reach. It also wasn’t news that this was his fault.

For the first time in three years, Alex seriously considered not going into work. If he stayed at home he would likely do something drastic. Run to the court room and burst in. Write John a novel where he had a perfect fiancé who respected and loved him more than anything, who gave up his job for him. So Alex dragged himself into work.

The office was a mess. It wasn’t worth getting out of bed. He realized, about ten minutes in, just how much work Maria must do usually that he didn’t see, because today on her first day off the place was an utter shamble. He powered through and left as soon as it was reasonably acceptable, citing writing a new bill as his excuse and leaving his deputy in charge.

The empty apartment felt colder when he got home, and emptier than it had every day that week.

It was a more permanent emptiness, like the walls knew they didn’t house Alex and John anymore, but simply a mess of a man and the man he ruined things with.

Alex was a parody of himself. To maintain honesty he actually did work on the upcoming bill and got six pages done before pausing. Next, he wrote a note and left it on the table, and then thought better of it. He couldn’t leave it on the bed because he couldn’t face going into their room. Instead he went to the kitchen, opened the hot chocolate powder jar—almost empty, an unfulfilled promise full now of only chocolate infused dust clogged at the bottom and floating up in his face. It felt like a broken, overworked metaphor but he decided it would do and folded the note up and shoved it in the carton.

Finally, he packed. His phone pinged with alerts every few minutes. The pings increased at one point and got so close together that he decided to suck it up and check it.

News reports with his name in them. About the trial, the Reynolds case—the Reynolds Scandal—the Reynolds Affair—

Alex read the black words on the white webpage narrating what had happened in court with a dull sense of dread and wondered if this was how John had felt reading his article about how they actually met. The words were solidly out there already. People had likely read this before him. Knew more about this thing that related to his life and his relationship than he did. And he was utterly powerless to do anything about it.

When he felt satisfactorily dead inside he sat down in his jacket with his shoes ready by the door for when his fiancé got back. If this was the last time he was going to see John get back from work and open the door to their apartment then he wasn’t going to miss a second of it. This was everything he ever wanted and was never able to admit he did.

It was stupid to think it was going to work. They’d been playing at house for three years—never moving into an actual house despite incomes—it would be too concrete—too much tying them to one another. It didn’t matter what John said sometimes, Alex knew that John couldn’t have really wanted to be with him forever.

 _Tell me how much you enjoyed ruining this._ How to explain that he’d always know he was going to ruin it, and had assumed John knew too. How awkward that John hadn’t gotten the memo.

The door opened and John Laurens stepped in like nothing had changed, with a wry half smile and the promise of a laugh. Then he slammed the door, and Alex saw the dark bags under his eyes, the apprehension in his expression, and—because he knew to look for it—the slightly bruised knuckles on his right hand.

No chance they could forget anything had ever happened then. _Hey honey, glad you're home, I hear you won the case but that the guy on trial announced that I’d been fucking his wife and taunted you through the end of it. I also hear that once it was over he threw a taunt at you and your defendant—the woman I supposedly fucked—and you vaulted over a chair and punched James Reynolds._

Instead he simply settled for: “I hear you punched James Reynolds.”

“Am I on trial in my own apartment? In my defense, I was having a really shit week.”

“I’m sorry.”

John stopped in his hurricane of activity, throwing his bag down and pacing back and forth. He ran his hand through his hair and down his face, taking a deep breath as if he were trying to stop an explosion.

“You know,” he said, quieter than anything else since he walked through the door. “That’s the first time you’ve apologized in all this mess.”

“I know I can’t justify any of it,” Alex said in a rush, ready to be interrupted. _Hoping_ he would be interrupted. “The whole thing was a mess. Maria was in a bad situation and I was weak and a coward who went home with her when she asked. When I realized—we only kissed and it was just that night.”

“So you only kissed a woman married to an abusive asshole whilst engaged to me and then didn’t anyone about it and made her keep it a secret for three months,” John paused and tilted his head, sarcastically adding, “well, that makes it better.”

“I honestly didn’t know everything about James—I suspected and I wanted to help her—”

“I don’t think your method of ‘help’ was really what she was looking for.”

Alex had enough common sense to not point out that he had offered her money as well.

“You managed to help her though,” Alex said. “I really knew you’d get him sent down.”

“It was a close call after I _punched him_. I won’t be practicing law for a while. Fuck” John laughed humorlessly when Alex looked shocked. “I’m possibly going to be revoked from the bar, got to wait and see. The jury’s out,” he added, smiling painfully.

“I’ll leave,” Alex’s voice broke and it was only two words. John seemed to notice Alex’s packed suitcase at this point and his face remained blank, not noticing anything else.

“I can book you a hotel for the weekend. I’ll sort out what needs to be cancelled,” John said, his voice emotionless as if they were speaking of a dentist appointment, “it’s only money,” he said brazenly.

Alex sucked in a quick breath. “We’re getting married in a month.”

John shook his head sadly and fuck, he was crying. Alex kept his own face as steady as he could but John— _John_ —was crying and it was all his fault. To John’s credit, if Alex hadn’t seen his face he might not have even known. His voice didn’t break. “No,” he said. “I don’t think we are.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex fails to get relationship advice from the President, so instead gets some from a ten-year-old.

In the days and weeks to come, Alex would sort events in his memory as either before or after this night. It might have been fairer to split the memories before and after he went home with Maria, but even now Alex couldn’t make himself confront that.

The door knock sounded like a funeral bell. It was a sound of defeat, marking the moment he left his pride behind and conceded that he needed help.

He couldn’t face the hotel John had booked. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he has going to face work in the morning. The responsibility and horror of it all—that it was his fault he was in this situation—crushed him even more. After leaving the apartment, their apartment, he reached the hotel and even parked for a second. But the consignor stepped close, the door man shook himself to attention, and Alex drove off. News cycles were constantly on the televisions in the foyers in that sort of place. Even if they were polite about it, subtle, professional, Alex would know that they knew what he’d done. James Reynolds had made sure that this wasn’t going to be swept under the rug.

In another life, Alex would like to have beat Reynolds to the headline and to have published this himself, to have set himself at the head of the narrative. But John had erased that possibility. Alex went to the press about the fake beginnings of their relationship and he nearly lost John by rushing forwards. But now he had lost John by holding back.

Alex shuffled from foot to foot and tried to ignore the security service detail hovering behind him, just outside the gate. There were two sets of security now, stationed at the same house. The Treasury and State Secretaries’ secret services mingling at midnight on a Monday: he hoped his guys might have some down time to chat to Angelica’s, perhaps play a game of cards. Peggy had opted to stay at the apartment with John after some persuading on Alex’s part. It was a relief; Alex would not have been able to deal with two Schuyler sisters tonight.

Peggy had portrayed the height of professionalism, she hadn’t even passed judgement—but she did step on his feet in her boots—accidentally she said, with a glare. Peggy knew Alex better than most people and even she seemed pissed off.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” he told her as he was about to leave.

“If that’s your only defense then I see why John’s kicked you out,” she countered.

“Peggy, please.”

She held the car door open for him and stared at him blankly. “Have a good night Mr Secretary.”

“Please just look after John.”

Her face softened slightly and she nodded before disappearing back into the apartment building. The building security guards looked at them peculiarly.

It was odd, Alex mused, having random strangers know something so personal about you when you hadn’t even spoken to your best friends about it yet. With a jolt of shame, Alex realized this was what John had been trying to explain about the fake relationship article.

Despite the ache in his chest and the nauseating feeling of panic, driving away from John and Peggy was slightly relieving, as if the hardest part was done: he’d handed over the reins to John; surrendered to fate.

John Church answered Angelica Schuyler’s door with a yawned “hello?” and his face fell into a frown when he saw Alex. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Is Angelica home?”

“She’s asleep. You can come in. But the guest bedroom’s occupied. You can have the pull out in her office.”

“Angelica kicked you out? Are you in the dog’s house, Church?” Alex stepped inside and let Church close the door behind him.

“I don’t think you should talk about people being in the dog’s house in relationships.” John Church was a very peculiar man; he offered the slaying insult as if it were a simple observation, without bias. Maybe it was a British thing. Either way, it derailed Alex for a minute.

“The bed’s made up in Ange’s office, sleep there.” Alex nodded his thanks, thinking of the similar set up in his own office and how alike he and Angelica actually were. Church offered him a half lifted lip that could’ve almost been a smile. “Leave early enough and you won’t even have to see her.”

“I’ll see her at work.”

“Don’t you work in different offices?"

“Oh, she’ll track me down somehow. Thanks for this, Church.”

“It’s just John,” John Church said.

Alex flinched and shook his head. “I think I’ll stick to Church.”

 

* * *

 

The limits of Alex’s professionalism had been tested about twenty times by five o’clock when the Chief of Staff finally made it to Alex’s office. What Alex really needed was to talk to the President and apologize for messing up so close to Election Day. He remembered the chaos and sleepless, caffeine fueled nights of the campaign run four years ago and tried to imagine how much of a headache a scandal such as this would have caused him as campaign manager. It was easy to imagine how much the campaign team must hate him. If he could help it, Alex would steer clear of the President’s staff for a few days.

This meeting was only with Greene and was officially to discuss any conflict of interest that may have arisen due to Maria working for him—the one stroke of fortune all day had been Maria calling before he got in, stating she was taking a personal day.

“I got glares from a third of my staff this morning,” he told Greene.

Not so officially, the meeting was for Alex to check where he stood with the President.

“Only a third of your staff is female?” Greene asked. “You need to work on your equality.”

“Greene. This is important. I’m being serious.”

“I am too. The upper levels of Government should set an example in hiring practices.”

“I need to talk to the President.”

“Well be careful what you wish for. Where do you think I’ve been all day? Sat on my backside? You’ve both been called to the Situation Room, I’m on collection duty.”

“I’ll be able to speak to the President afterwards?”

“Yes. And I’m not obligated to warn you about this, but I’m a benevolent man, so you should know that the Secretary of State will also be there.”

“Fuck.”

Greene turned to him, stone-faced, and nodded. “My sentiments exactly.”

 

* * *

 

“Mr Secretary,” Angelica glared at him, offering a curt nod. The country would stand for another day. The meeting had taken the majority of the evening up though and it was later than he thought as they emerged from the Situation Room, the night sky welcoming them through the windows.

Washington stayed inside to talk to Greene about something. Alex had been listening in the meeting, he really had. Something about authorizing funds to pay off one country to stop their invading force from going further into another country. Of course it was important, and he respected it but it was happening half a world away, and if anyone asked, Alex was ready to point out the classical maxim of getting one’s own house in order before trying to resolve the issues in anyone else’s.

The Ancient Greek’s had a point: Alex could hardly concentrate on how to resolve another country’s issue when his own marriage had failed before it even started. So, Alex turned his anger on the only person present who wasn’t a military commander, and didn’t currently out rank him. Officially at least. Personally, Alex had no qualms with admitting Angelica would beat him in any contest, from a fist fight in a parking lot, to a popularity test in the polls.

“Is that really all you have to say to me?” Alex said, baiting her a little.

He recognized he was the one at fault for what had happened with John and Maria but everyone was being too civil and mature about it. A fight, an argument, a shouting match, anything would be better than the bitter disappointed silence and cold shoulders he kept receiving.

Angelica paused and turned to look back at him. Suddenly her mouth curved down into a look of disappointment. “What would you like me to say, Alex?” she asked, sounding exhausted. “Congratulations, you fucked up the best thing to ever happen to you? You made the man you claimed you loved feel worthless and didn’t even have the guts to admit it yourself. And then you left John alone and came to work as usual?”

“What? You expected me to not be here? You think I’m that unprofessional?”

“I think I would have respected you more if you didn’t come in.”

Alex wanted to argue that he was doing the only thing he knew how to carrying on, that John was fine. But he couldn’t know that was true, so instead he weakly said: “Peggy’s with John.”

“I know. I got a text from her at four saying they were in the Fraunces Tavern with Mr Mulligan and Mr Lafayette. It seems he got all the best friends in the divorce.”

“It’s not a divorce. And he didn’t get Burr.”

“It’s not a divorce because you didn’t even make it to the wedding. And counting Burr is the saddest thing you’ve ever said. I almost feel sorry for you. As your reward you get to come and meet the people who stole the guest bedroom from your sorry ass last night.”

Alex frowned, not wanting to admit that he’d assumed Church had been the one in the guest bedroom. Seeing his bemused look, Angelica rolled her eyes and took pity on him—despite her words she didn’t seem half as mad at him as some other people had, except for Washington who had offered him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before asking him about their foreign defense budget.

“Martha and Frances are staying with John and me whilst they’re in D.C. They were staying until the wedding, not sure of their plans now. Maybe you and Martha should have a chat. John broke her heart, you broke his.”

Angelica had walked them to the end of the corridor.

“I needed to talk to the President about the campaign. The effect this could have on it is bad.”

“Sure it is,” she agreed, stepping outside, letting him choose to follow. “But it’s going to be as bad tomorrow as it is today. The President’s busy. Let his staff deal with this. I doubt anyone in the west wing particularly wants to see you right now.”

“Angelica—” he warned but her car had arrived and she ushered him in first, before sliding in beside him. She shut the door.

“Home please,” she said then turned back to him. “I’m not on your side. I’m not particularly on John’s either. I considered being on Maria’s but decided against it. I’m on the side of your past self before he fucked up. Find him for me and maybe we can talk it out.” She stopped and ran her hand through her hair, “I've watched you throw yourself in and out of flings for years, leaving a mess behind you.”

“Angelica—”

She shook her head. “I’m not finished. You never notice what you're doing. Someone could've been desperately in love with you since the second you met and you would laugh it off after a one night stand. You know, I was always worried about what you’d be like in a real relationship but you managed to disappoint even my low standards. I never imagined you could be as callous when you were actually in love.”

“Angelica, I love John. This is just a—a blip—a moment okay? We can overcome this. I’m going to show him how much he means to me.”

“You showed John exactly what you thought of him. You went out and took your assistant home—and I don’t care you didn’t fuck her, don’t you dare interrupt, Alex, for fuck's sake—you let John know he’s not enough for you. That you needed more.”

Angelica climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her on the last word. Alex struggled to keep up with her storming down the garden path. The front door was already unlocked, and Angelica—the Schuyler upbringing overcoming her anger for a minute—held the door open for him as he caught up and crossed the threshold.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she said, closing the door behind him.

“Hard to break habits.”

She frowned then turned away from him and walked through to the kitchen, expecting him to following. “Is that meant to be some poignant statement on how you’re used to letting people down so subconsciously manoeuvred your own relationship’s destruction?” She got a pot of Greek yogurt from the fridge and some honey from the cupboard.

Alex paused over his words, accepting the proffered spoon, still slightly dazed. “Well, not completely,” he lied. Thinking about it, that was exactly what he had meant, but it sounded a lot more arrogant and pitiful when paraphrased by Angelica. She looked at him dubiously.

The door opened and a woman shouted through. “Ange?”

“In here!” Angelica yelled, then reverted to a quick whisper. “Martha and Frances. Please be nice to them.”

“Frances is going to change for bed. We’ll be through in a minute!” Martha shouted back.

“Why are they still here?” Alex hissed, leaning across the table and stealing some of the honeyed yogurt.

Angelica batted his spoon away with her own then said: “They’re here for me, not the wedding.” Her tone was casual, but Alex sensed something had just been revealed.

There was something in the way Angelica avoided his eye. “You’re dating Church still?” he said, letting his voice rise at the end, phrasing it as a question.

Angelica’s face contorted for a second and settled somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. “You know, I was the UK Ambassador and Church was my assistant when we started dating. It was exactly like you and Maria, if you’d actually wanted to date her,” she paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth, “actually, it wasn’t different at all. The two of being together was,”—here she waved the spoon around, trying to articulate the thought and a blob of yogurt fell off—“mutually beneficial.”

“Let me get this straight—”

“I’m not,” she laughed. “Church is bless him, but he wanted an in for his business in D.C. and New York and I needed someone to take home to my father, - and no men or women were doing the trick yet, it seemed easier to fabricate one,” she shrugged, “and the romance was born. When I met Martha we clicked though. Church is okay with it. He has his freedoms. I have mine.”

“This is some novel worthy bullshit,” Alex said, wide eyed.

“Who doesn’t have a politically maneuvered relationship these days? I think you and John were the last real couple in D.C.”

“And you never told me because...?”

Here she stopped and looked at him funnily. “Honestly, Alex, I thought you might have figured that out by now.”

“You’re dating John’s ex-wife?”

It was of course this point that Martha chose to re-enter the room with a pajama wearing girl behind her. Martha went over to Angelica, smiling at her, but Frances stayed looking at Alex. Her gaze was heavy and Alex felt he had been weighed, measured, and been found wanting.

“Hi,” Frances said.

“Hello,” he replied, uncertainly.

“Are you my dad’s Alex?”

“I am,” he said, quickly, daring Angelica or Martha to correct him. The two women had started up a quiet conversation on the other side of the table, trying to remain inconspicuous as if they weren’t observing every second of this exchange.

“Is my dad here?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Oh,” Frances looked unsure of herself for the first time, and dropped eye contact for a second. “Did you do something wrong?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the table, from Martha it seemed and Alex recognized the need to tread carefully. “Yeah. But I still love him very much.”

Frances nodded sagely, “You should apologize.”

“I should.”

“How?”

“Pardon?”

“How are you going to apologize?”

Genius level intellect and half a life time of debating with some of the sharpest minds in the country and Alexander Hamilton found himself stumped a minute into a conversation with a ten-year-old. If it had ever been in doubt, it was clear now that she was John’s daughter. That and the freckles. Alex swallowed and tried not to think about John crying as he closed the door.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“You should think of something he really likes,” she said, earnestly and took the seat next to him, crossing her legs under her. “What does he like?”

“You tell me,” Alex said, weakly. He was trying to be kind. Trying to imagine this from the point of view of the daughter John had barely seen in a decade who still wanted to fix his relationship and acted like she knew him.

Frances blushed and Martha pushed her chair back, abandoning any attempts at faking conversation. “Honey, it’s time for bed soon,” but before Martha could even start glaring at Alex, Frances overcame her embarrassment.

“My dad likes turtles,” she said, “and painting, and drawing, and helping people. He likes snowy days—because he told me his favourite things always happen on snowy days in the letter he sent last year when I said it snowed on my birthday—and,” her blush crept back in again, making her freckles stand out and she ducked her head a little, letting her curls obscure her face as she finished with, “he likes you.”

“You know what he told me,” Alex leaned in conspiratorially, and Frances’ eyes widened and she shook her head. “He told me he likes you best.”

Frances’ face lit up into a grin, Martha sighed, and Alex hoped he hadn’t done something else to annoy John.

“Frances you’re very clever,” he said.

“I know.”

Alex laughed. “And you’re very good at giving advice. I know exactly how to apologize to John. But I’m going to need your help. Is that okay?”

Frances’ eyes flicked to her mum who must have nodded because a second later Frances was eagerly nodding.

“Brilliant,” Alex said, leaning in again and letting his brain whirl as the plan became more fully formed, the basic idea expanding, considerations of Angelica, Martha, Frances, and John sliding into place, a consideration of the looming dates of the original wedding date, and the 28th October and 31st October. They could do with more time, but it would have to be enough. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is moving on with his life and is completely fine. Or maybe not.

John always assumed everything would fall apart—when it started so brilliantly with Alex and everything seemed to move in their favour he waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. And of course it did. 

Despite being prepared, somehow it still stunk. 

It was said that D.C. was the most powerful city, and the largest playground in America: gossip flew like wild fire, a conversation over drinks could make or break a career, and it was certain that if you were trying to avoid someone you would bump into them within the week. 

Having Martha, Frances, and Alex in the city at the same time, and his father’s funeral still pertinent in his mind, was all too much. The city became a kaleidoscope of his failures and pain. 

It hurt like hell to live with reminders everyday, when he switched on the news or left the apartment, of what he had lost.

And when Eliza coaxed him out of the office for lunch and they were met with Alex having lunch at the table opposite with Henry Knox—John wasn’t even sure Alex had seen him. Or maybe he had and had purposely not turned around. Needless to say they didn’t stay to order.

At the back of his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father’s reprimanded and reminded him of the worst part of the whole affair; their separation was his choice. This pain he was experiencing, the ache in his gut, it was all of his own choosing. 

Of course, to pile pain upon pain, he was currently suspended from the bar. Apparently hitting the person you were prosecuting was generally frowned upon. Eliza, who had sat next to him and defended him the whole way, admitted that his reasoning that Reynolds was an abusive bastard who deserved it had not helped his defence. At least John had told the truth. He still had that on his side. Sure he was in pain, suspended from the job of a lifetime for a case where he defended the woman who his fiancé cheated on him with, but at least he could say that he hadn’t lied. 

If only Alex could say the same. 

Maybe—maybe if Alex had told him straight away—if he hadn’t hidden it—maybe forgiveness would’ve been easier then. 

Maybe not.

“I still love him,” John admitted. 

Lafayette raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “But of course you do. That was never in question.”

Hercules nodded and, rather than offering any sage advice, raised his glass and downed his shot. 

John looked down sadly into his own tequila. “We’re grown adults. We shouldn’t be doing shots.”

“Boff,” Lafayette dismissively waved his words away. “Shots—how you say?—fit the situation.”

“Stop saying,  _how you say_ ,” Hercules stole Lafayette’s shot and swirled it around, letting a little slop over the rim, “your English is better than mine.”

Lafayette glared at Hercules for a minute then pointedly swapped to French. John sighed and tried to force himself to swap into French grammar and thoughts. It was going to be one of those nights. The three of them would understand—as would Eliza, who was currently fighting through the bar queue—at least people couldn’t listen in on John bemoaning his woes as easily this way. 

“What if I didn’t leave him?” John asked in tentative French.

Lafayette and Hercules stopped bickering and turned to him.

“Is that what you want?” Lafayette asked. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But you were happy leaving him five shots ago,” Hercules pointed out. 

John felt some wire inside him snap. “I was never happy with any of this.”

At that moment, Eliza came back over precariously balancing another round. “Maybe we should stop for the night after this.”

“We’re talking in French,” John informed her. 

“Okay,” she obliged, slipping into the language and throwing a frown at Hercules. “What’re you talking about?”

“I was just telling Herc to mind his own business.”

His friends all exchanged a look. Hercules looked like John had kicked him. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you making decisions because of alcohol. Hey, I knew Ham before either of you two, I want him to be happy in this. But I don’t want to screw you over and tell you what to do.”

“Then maybe you should stop trying to help.”

“ _John_ ,” Lafayette hissed. 

John shook his head, downed his shot, and wiped his lip with the back of his shirt sleeve. “Yeah. Maybe we should call it a night.” He stood up abruptly—too quickly, but damn it if he was going to show them that he felt unsteady. “I’m alright,” he snapped. “Tired. Don’t worry.” He carefully pulled out his wallet and slipped some bills onto the table. As he got ready to leave, the sound of chairs scrapping across the floor alerted him to Eliza, Lafayette, and Hercules doing the same. John paused. “It’s still alright if I come back to yours Herc?”

“Of course,” Hercules, for all the years of training and military and secret service action, was far softer than Lafayette or Eliza in this instance. 

“The bar’s making their final decision tomorrow,” John admitted. 

Eliza nodded, collecting her coat. “We’ve got everything for the case ready—you’ll get your license back. No one’s ever been this prepared for a short suspension meeting as we will be.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t screw up.”

“Impossible,” Lafayette said, “Hamilton’s the screw up in this relationship, not you.”

“Thanks, Laf, nice reminder.”

“I serve at the pleasure of John Laurens.”

Hercules laughed once, seemingly recovered from John’s earlier barbs. “Are you drunk, Gilbert?”

Lafayette petulantly shook his head. “The French don’t get drunk. I’ve never been drunk in my life.”

“Ah, my mistake.”

The two of them walked ahead of them slightly, Lafayette surreptitiously putting his hand on Hercules’ arm for support. John turned to check Eliza was next to him but didn’t catch her eye.

“What if I do screw up the meeting?” he asked, quietly. It was a moment before he realised he’d said the words out loud. 

“That’ll never happen,” Eliza smiled. “You’re John Laurens—you’ll blow them away.” 

 

* * *

 

The next day found John at work, staring out the window and trying to forget the date. 

“Hap—” Eliza burst into his office ready to explode into song but John shushed her with a finger to his lips and a shake of his head. 

“I’d rather we didn’t.” 

“Fine,” she pouted. “Well, can I at least say congratulations? You were amazing this morning. They’ll have you back for sure.”

He shrugged, unwilling to add false humble to his list of sins for the morning. The meeting with the committee this morning had undeniably gone well and John had maintained his professional exterior, and Eliza had kept a stern yet controlling face and overall they’d been a formidable team. It was wrong to get his hopes up, but equally, the return of his license to practice law would not come as too great a surprise in next week’s post. He fought down a smile. It was rather great news, and a huge relief, he wanted to share it with—

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

Sharing the information, the joy, any of it, with Alex was out of the question. Even considering the date—not, of course, that he was—the date was not on his mind at all. It was just a day after all.

“How about we get some lunch?”

“Huh?” John asked, snapping slowly out of his reprieve. Eliza stared at him expectantly and tapped her watch. He stood up on instinct, checking the time. “Lunch?” he asked. 

“Lawyer extraordinaire,” Eliza said dubiously. “Yes, lunch.”

“I could do with some lunch.”

“Are you okay John?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. She nodded sadly, seemingly seeing through the lie and accepting it simultaneously.

“Martha and Frances have come over to see you. I think Frances wanted to see the aquarium across town. You’ve got through enough paperwork in the last few days to set you ahead for weeks. And as you can’t have any direct clients right now”—he flinched, but Eliza continued, at least doing him the grace of not showing any pity—“as your boss I’m ordering you to take an extended lunch and take your daughter to see some fish.” She finished with a nod. 

For the first time, John saw a resemblance between Eliza and Alex, a strength of character and a persistence that they both shared. They both had an enviable singlemindedness, and an ability to state a suggestion as fact. John had enough practise with Alex to know fighting was futile. 

“Sure,” he said, “I could see some fish.”

 

* * *

 

"I forgot the national aquarium had closed to the public. You would've loved it." John told Frances. She nodded wisely. "They moved a lot of the animals to Baltimore. There's a loggerhead sea turtle called Brownie who you have to see. I'll - I'll take you some time, if your mum wants me to."  

He looked over at Martha warily but she was smiling wryly. "That sounds impressive." 

"This place is cool though," he intoned as he led Martha and Frances through the crowds and towards the reptile centre.  "Good enough for a quick visit."

"Oh yeah, just the Smithsonian National Zoological Park, nothing big."

"Isn't this where the snakes live?" Frances asked, her voice high and panicked even as she tried to smile. 

John wanted to tell her it was okay to be afraid. He also wanted to tell her how cool snakes were. He settled for avoiding the question. "Turtles are technically part of the reptile family too. They're in the Chelonia class, just around here—"

John was in front, playing guide, and was the first to notice that the area in front of the turtles was completely empty except for one man stood in the middle. It was odd for John to notice anything or anyone else too obviously when in a room like this.

He distantly heard Martha say, "We’ll leave you two alone." 

When John remained frozen, a small hand pushed on his arm, urging him forward. Frances giggled, "Go on!" 

John looked over her head to glare at Martha - really he was looking anywhere he could to not make eye contact with the man - but Martha just shrugged. 

"Blame our daughter," she said. "It was her idea." 

Frances blushed and looked down. 

"I thought it'd be a nice birthday surprise." 

Oh.

There was the b word. 

Martha took Frances' hand whilst John was still frozen and pulled her gently away. Luckily, John regained enough of his senses to offer the little girl a smile before she disappeared - one which she returned. 

Even now, faced with that man, John took a second to look at the impressive tanks and at the formidable creatures within - or maybe he was just biding his time before having to look at the man. The dinosaur like Alligator Snapping Turtles were the largest here, John had been able to recite facts about them since childhood and but still walked over to the tank and scanned his eyes over the fact sheet like it would reveal something new. The Alligator Snapping Turtle gave John the side-eye as if it were judging him. _What're you looking at?_ John wanted to ask. _Maybe I just don't want to talk to him right now._ The turtle stayed very still and didn't react at all - this was really what John should have expected. Forty to fifty minutes before they needed to surface for breath. Sometimes stayed so still algae would cover them. This was a starring contest John would invariably lose.

"She was only trying to help," Alex said. "If you're going to be annoyed with anyone you should be annoyed at me."

"Oh I am." 

Alex let out a sound between a laugh and a groan. "I deserved that one." 

"You deserve a lot more than that." 

John took a deep breath and turned to face the man he was talking to. 

It would be poetic to say how wonderful Alex looked, but truly Alex looked worse than John felt. 

"What did you think this was going to achieve?" John asked. His voice was weaker than he'd thought it would be.

Alex's smile dropped away, "I thought you might not shout in front of the turtles. Also that you might be proud I said turtles instead of tortoises."

"There are tortoises here too, but—" John paused and looked around the room and despite his dignity's internal protests, let out a loud sigh. "I really love this room." 

"I know." 

“I could tell you a lot of facts about box turtles. You know, if you wanted to know.”

“I know you could.”

"I met with the District of Columbia Bar. It went well. I should be able to practice law again in a week." 

Alex's face lit up - and shit John had missed that. "I know that too," Alex said, more sheepishly this time. "Eliza called." 

John laughed once, itching to cover his sudden uncertainty of what was going on. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"I don't know how this is going to go. I don't know if you're going to take me back." 

"You know I kept imagining things like this - at night I'd think of you apologising and explaining and how you might do it and how you might convince me." 

Alex's face lit up. A surge of something found its way into his eyes and John was suddenly very grateful he'd never had to politically oppose this man. "So you are willing to be convinced." 

"I don't know. It happened in my head. That doesn't make any of it real."

Alex shrugged. "Of course it happened in your head. Why on earth should that mean it wasn't real?" 

"I - " John paused.

Oh. 

Just when he thought he'd won - a memory flooded in of him sitting through eight movies and buying seven books for his ill-informed boyfriend. He missed the look on Alex’s face. The excitement, exasperation, and love. But there was something else, something more important that he needed to address straight away—

"Did you just misquote Dumbledore at me?" 

"I—" Alex pouted. "I thought I got the quote right. That was one of Frances' suggestions - she mentioned you're forcing the books on her too and it reminded me of the day you referenced it and then when you bought them. I just wanted you to know I remembered—“ 

He was blabbering, moving his hands a mile a minute, gesturing as he tried to explain and John let logical reasoning fly out of the aquarium for a minute. Before he could consider anything, he'd strode across the room, lent down and was kissing Alex. 

He pulled away suddenly to meet the shocked eyes of his possibly-ex fiancé. 

"I can't believe I did that. I don't think I've forgiven you," John admitted.

Alex nodded quickly. "That's fine."

"It's not fine. None of this is fine, shit can we please not do this here?

Anyone could see." 

"I could come to the apartment?" Alex suggested carefully. "Only if you're still there." 

John's mind froze over the wording for a minute, trying to parse out what the other man meant.  _If he was still there?_ "You want me to move out?"

"What? No. I meant, it’s yours completely," Alex held up his hands in surrender, "jerk rule means I get nothing." 

"I'm not sure that jerk rule would hold up in court." 

"Well, you would know. You're the lawyer. I only meant, if you didn’t want to stay there anymore we could do something..."

"Yeah, no," John shook then nodded his head wishing his brain would catch up. He took a deep breath, counted to twenty and then, when Alex had started to look worried and like he might speak, John said: "I'm staying in the apartment. And you are too." 

Alex's eyes widened and he tripped over himself stepping forwards and reducing out toward him. John took as two back. 

"This doesn't mean this is resolved, or that I forgive you completely, or trust you like I did before. But I want things to be better and I think you do too. And I've tried really hard to hate you but realised I still love you even when I don't particularly like you. So you should move back in. And we can - talk." John nodded, shakily and hoped against hope that he was making the right choice. The light in Alex's eyes seemed to suggest he was, even if a part of his mind was shouting at him for it.

“Thank you.” Alex reached out and slowly took his hand, squeezing it, and smiled. "Happy Birthday John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lordofthedreadfort brilliantly proofread this and recommended the extra paragraph of turtle facts


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John opened the door to his apartment on the evening of his birthday feeling happy, but not overjoyed.

John opened the door to his apartment on the evening of his birthday feeling happy, but not overjoyed. He held the door for Alex.

“Thank you," Alex beamed and John knew he was referring to far more than the scant display of chivalry.

There was a pause, a few seconds too long, before Alex stepped further into the apartment. They had called this place theirs for three years. Alex toed off his shoes before stepping onto the rug they got as an engagement present from the Lafayettes. It was still soft, clean, and new. Alex walked on it delicately as if his presence might stain it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

John froze.

Alex's sense of timing always had been cruel. It wasn’t fair for words he’d waited so long for to be thrown out so callously, as if Alex had merely been waiting for John's attention to slip so he could catch him unaware. Make it seem casual. Like it was no big thing.

“John," Alex took a deep breath and John steeled himself for a long speech. "I understand more than most your right to ignore me and hear none of my defence, and if you want to kick me out right now then you’ve already shown me more respect than I deserve. But I’d be remiss not to try and fight my corner, and you know I like a fight. You can respect my commitment to the cause if nothing else.”

“Is ‘the cause’ our relationship?” John raised both hands in surrender “sorry, of course, to interrupt such a clearly rehearsed speech.”

Alex huffed and his eyes seared into John’s, searching for something. “Hear me out. Please."

Maybe it was the please that did it. John nodded. “Now that was a lot more concise, wasn’t it?”

That produced the beginnings of a smile on Alex’s face, not a genuine smile but at least a genuine attempt at one.

“What’s that idiom about a genius being able to say a tricky thing simply?”

“I don't know, Alex."

“You were always the cleverer one of us.”

John laughed to hide his shock. That statement paired with the apology was a little too much. He was laying it on thick; belatedly John realised this was a full frontal apology attack.

Trust Alexander Hamilton to never do something halfway.

Honestly, whenever Alex gave anything his full attention it was hard to resist. Distraction was the only viable option.

"I thought we were going to talk?" John said, trying to regain control of the situation. He wanted to knock Alex off his pre-planned conversational route. He wanted to hear the truth, not some pre-canned pleasantry. "I missed you when you weren't here." John admitted. Might as well give him something.

He expected a smug smile but it only made Alex's face fall.

"You shouldn't be hurting because of this."

The childish urge to retort "well I am" was only just stopped on time. John wanted the right to shout abuse but the recent fear of disbarment and the presence of Frances had shocked him into responsibility lately. Also, of course, the absence of Alex.

Honestly, only with Alex gone had John finally admitted how much he shaped his life around him. He thanked God that he had at least had the foresight to go back into law and extricate himself from working at the White House. Although, if he hadn't returned to law, maybe he still wouldn't know about Maria.

Would Alex have ever told him if he didn't find out in court?

"Probably," Alex said.

John snapped his head around to look at Alex and wondered how much of that monologue he'd said out loud.  
  
"The second it happened I wanted to tell you."

Unable to contain it, John bit back: "Then why didn't you?"

It looked like keeping his tone casual was causing Alex acute pain. "I was going to. I got a plane all the way to South Carolina with the intention of not letting it get between us by airing it as soon as possible, laying it out and allowing you to chose what we did. I got as far as actually seeing you in your bedroom and you looked so lost, and I kept thinking about what that place meant to you, and Henry and how much the bastard hurt you, and I couldn't be another person who hurt you in that room."

John sat down unable to break eye contact with Alex. "Oh shit."

"So I didn't tell you," Alex finished, uselessly.

"So you proposed instead."

Alex shrugged. "It seemed the best course of action."

"The best course of action?!"

"That's maybe not my best wording ever."

"I swear, Alex, you are the dumbest genius in D.C, and that's really saying something."

They were silent for a moment. John took the time to compose himself; Alex took the time to take a deep breath and rally his defence.  
  
"Look, John-"

"This isn't a debate."

"You mean it's not up for debate?"

"I mean I'm your fiancé who you cheated on, who yesterday thought I might never talk to you again. But then you went and made that big, sweet gesture and now I feel this stupid urge to forgive you and I'm trying to fight that. Talking probably won't help your case."

"I'm all in favour of the stupid urge. Honestly, any stupid urge I get to do something I usually say, just do it."

"I know."

"That probably wasn't my best wording ever either. Hey," Alex ran a hand awkwardly through his hair, "maybe you were right when you said talking wouldn't help my case?"

"Please keep on hindering your own defence here, I don't even have to do anything. Usually I'd make the defendant stop by this point but as you're helping me out I'll let it slide."

"You're not a judge."

"Yet."

Alex's eyes widened and John almost smiled. "That would be so cool. Would they let you get one of the wigs?"

"I think they're sort of a prerequisite."

"Sort of a prerequisite," Alex mocked, "you're such a lawyer."

"Yeah, but I'm your lawyer."

The words felt wrong even as he said them, but John didn't catch them on time.

"Sorry." He looked away. "Force of habit. What were we meant to be talking about?"

"Us."

"Great." John gulped. He couldn't turn back to face Alex. He couldn't look at him right now. If he turned around now he might forget what he was going to say. If he turned around now he might forgive him. "This will be fun."

* * *

"Did we do the right thing?" Angelica asked.

Martha moved around her, cleaning up the plates from dinner whilst Ang sat morosely in front of her barely touched plate.

"At least Frances enjoyed it. Her eyes when we saw the..." Ang trailed off, her eyes alive with the thought of Frances' excitement at the zoo. "She was exhausted tonight."

Martha laughed, knocking Angelica out of her reprieve. The table had been cleaned around her and her water replaced with wine. "It's a miracle."

"Frances likes me, right?" Angelica twisted in her chair to watch Martha leaning against the counter.

A puzzled look crossed Martha's face then a look of relief, as if to say that's what this is about. "Of course, she's excited you're showing her America. She's heard a lot about it from her dad and has been bugging me to bring her for years. You're her new favourite." Martha finished putting the pots away and clapped her hands together. "Frances is the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me and she wants her father in her life. I can't begrudge her that and I won't begrudge John for not being here either. But it's definitely nice to have adult company after her bath and bed time again."

Angelica smiled. "She really loves John. It surprised me. I thought she might...be mad."

Martha was silent as she collected her thoughts then shook her head. "I thought we both might be mad. Especially seeing him again and with Alex. But I think I always understood where he was coming from too much. And I have you now," she beamed at Angelica. "John deserves some happiness too. I hope him and Alex work it out, they just need time."

"They don't have time," Angelica frowned. "They need to realise the consequences of what they're doing."

Martha perched on the chair next to her. "Ang, what's going on with the campaign?"

She suddenly looked very reserved. "I don't know."

"You're Secretary of State."

"You'd really hope they'd tell me more..."

"Are you seeing different polls to me?"

Angelica stood up suddenly and bristled, arching her back then straightened it like a cat trying to shake off fear. Martha moved next to her and leaned her head on the taller woman's shoulder.

"We're going to lose New York to Burr and the centre right," Angelica said. "That's twenty-nine safe electoral notes gone. The campaign's scattering its resources trying to reassure all the centre voting swing states that we can do this. Adams is pissing everyone off going off message, and Washington is distracted trying to sort out his pseudo-son's public scandal and failing engagement. They were the poster boys for the left and now the Republicans can show them as a failed, flawed attempt at gay marriage. Less than two weeks out to E-day and there's a lots of stuff the right can throw at us. Jefferson must be laughing."

Martha didn't say anything for a minute but it was easy enough to read the direction of her thoughts from her frown. John Church still stayed in their house and most of the outside world assumed he was the one dating the country's much loved Secretary of State. Surely knowing that two of the top four cabinet officials were in gay relationships wouldn't help the campaign. A non-straight, black, female Secretary was maybe too much to get everyone South of the Mason Dixon line to accept.

"I wish America would get their act together and all become Democrats already," Martha sighed dramatically.

Angelica smiled, slightly painfully. "That would certainly improve the polls. Although we're losing Democrats in some places."

"I'm sure the campaign will rally behind..."

"Who? Me? Knox? Greene is ready to pull his hair out. Alex was supposed to be the Deputy Campaign Manager whilst most the Senior Staff stayed in the White House. Yeah," she said, seeing Martha's widened eyes. "I recognise it's too much work to give Alex but the President trusted him."

"And you don't believe he should have?"

There was a pause, a moment when Angelica Schuyler remembered her loyalties and her professionalism and wanted to take everything back. But she didn't want to hold things back from Martha. Honestly, Angelica had been resigned to never caring for anyone as much as she did her sisters, except maybe Alex, before Martha Manning and her maddeningly adorable daughter had come along. Telling her the truth of her resentment...It felt like a betrayal to Alex.

But Alex already knew a thing or two about betrayal, and he hadn't been thinking of her, or John, or the campaign when he slept with Maria Reynolds.

"I think Alex might have lost us this election. I think we might lose."

* * *

Hercules Mulligan was not a quiet man. By nature or nurture, he'd never been inducted into that silent breed of men who keep their opinions and excitements to themselves. When he got home from guard detail on the Secretary of the Treasury to see his new wife sat quietly on the coach, he loudly asked:

"What d'you think Ham and Laurens are up to right now?" with an accompanying eyebrow wiggle. He got a bottle from the fridge and took a swig. Eliza looked at him pointedly and he gulped. "I mean, they're probably rationally talking out their problems?"

Eliza shrugged. "Probably having a screaming match. Or maybe jumping each other's bones."

Mulligan choked on his laugh as his wife calmly went back to reading her book.

* * *

It was actually, tentatively going well. There wasn't any reason it shouldn't, John reasoned, he and Alex weren't new at this, they knew how to talk things out. This one just happened to be slightly more problematic than usual.

Because every time John remembered he loved this ridiculous, small man, Alex would find someway to remind him about Maria.

"I didn't sleep with her."

"Alex, please, I don't need to hear all the ins and outs, I don't want to know..."

"I wouldn't sleep with her. I mean, there was a moment when I might have, but I wouldn't actually have done it. You see the difference?"

John took a swig of his beer and glared at his fiancé. "No."

"Maria asked me not to tell anyone about James. I needed to help her and she said she didn't want to be alone because Susan was with him that weekend and so I went back to hers for a drink after work. Then I said it was too late and I had to leave. She asked me to stay."

"So you cheated." John wanted to be anywhere but here. It was best to treat it like a bridge he decided - John was scared of heights and driving over bridges, always had been, but sometimes he had to do it. Once you were on the bridge you might as well keep going, get through it, power through till you got off the other side.

"So she kissed me."

"And you kissed her back."

"Maybe for a few seconds."

"And then?"

"And then I left."

John was already nodding before Alex's words caught up with him. "Excuse me?"

Alex frowned. "I left straight after kissing her. It was only once, I'd had a bit of the drink but I didn't stay to finish it. I apologised, told her I was a piece of shit, gave her the number of Eliza's law firm. Then I wallowed in disgusting self pity for two days before Mulligan called and got me on a plane to you."

"Oh," John ignored the end of Alex's words, letting the small self insult lie. "I thought..." Truly, he hadn't know what he'd thought. He'd tried very hard not to imagine it. But it had always been worse than that.

It startled him to realise he was calming down.

For the first time in a week his chest felt normal, rather than a stormy sea, and his throat was unconstricted. The constant dry feeling in his throat was gone and his breath didn't hitch at the end of the sentence. Forgiveness came as a surprise to John.

The rest of the world seemed to rush in as a series of images. Alex was looking at him like he was the sun and he hated to put out that light but one of them needed to remember reason and that little thing called the election.

"The political fallout," John rushed the words, "it's too much. If we break up" - and Alex's face utterly broke on those words and John felt his chest tighten again. It was curious to realise that even as he had hated the man in front of him, John had never stopped loving and caring about him - "she worked for you and you got enough attention for being bisexual already. This will blow the whole thing up in the President's face. Look how we couldn't keep a relationship together, you couldn't keep it in your pants -"

Alex opened his mouth, likely to protest how literally his pants had stayed on the whole time but John was on a roll and didn't have time for pedantic interruptions.

Obviously, Alex's brain was catching up as he said instead:

"It's how the press will see it."

"They run with what sells, not what's true," John said, wondering when he decided to start defending Alex again. It hadn't been a conscious decision and wasn't one he was entirely happy with, but he and his subconscious could argue that out later. Right now he was piecing together the puzzle and edging towards an answer he was reluctant to admit.

"The scandal is too harsh right now to explain when it all hits rock bottom that it wasn't quite as bad as they reported and try and swim to shore and not drown. It doesn't matter what's at the bottom of the cliff. It's the fall that's gonna kill us."

Alex knocked his head back against his chair and ran his hands through his knotted hair. "You're right. We could kill the campaign with this...President Washington...the country needs him."

The duel desperation and ridiculous of the situation made a laugh bubble close to the surface. John tried to fight it down.

He was unsure how he ever reached this point. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that Alex was considering the impact on Washington when he hadn't considered how kissing another person would impact John. Since the beginning of this, it had never been a question that the Washington Administration came first.

"If we don't get married on Saturday then the Republicans have a weekend to tear Washington apart in all the centre and centre left swing states before the election." John saw the three paths before them clear as day and wondered if Alex could see them too. Wondered which one Alex would pick if he could see them.

"You should resign," John said first.

The utter shock in Alex's eyes, the unfair edge of betrayal, showed that Alex clearly hadn't seen that path.

"I'm not quitting this close to the election," he said slowly, "it would be seen as a sign of weakness."

Feeling spiteful still from the Washington comment, John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and you just don't know when to quit. You don't want to throw away your chance at this."

Alex's eyes flashed with something, some certainty and fire that had once drawn John in. It was equally amazing and terrifying to see, even now.

"No, I don't."

"Alex, if the Republicans get in -"

"- maybe we'll still retake congress."

John groaned. "We're not retaking congress. We haven't held congress in decades." Alex muttered something that John assumed was the exact number of years, under his breath. Forcing himself to calm down, John was suddenly hit with the memory of Alex looking at him hurt, only a month before. "Is this how you felt with Martha and Frances?"

The non-sequitur knocked Alex off and jolted him into answering honestly. "A little different. You didn't tell the truth. But you didn't get with Martha whilst you were engaged to me either."

"You're not helping your case."

"I have to be honest."

"You have to drag yourself. You always do. That won't help this time, it'll just hinder it, you've said - written - all you can."

Somehow, saying this seemed harsher than anything John had thrown at Alex before, perhaps because it was true. Or perhaps because it left them with only one path left.

For once, Alex was the last one in the room to follow the conversation to the conclusion that had seemed inevitable to John for most of the evening, ever since his chest had stopped aching and his mind had untwisted from its painful misshapen mess earlier.

"Alex," John said, softly, "there's a way we can maybe make this work." Alex looked at him helplessly and John took a deep breath at the same time he leaned over and took his fiancé's hand. "We go ahead with the wedding as planned. We get married on Saturday."

Alex's face lit up but his eyes looked terrified. It would have been comical if it didn't so perfectly mirror John's own emotional confusion.

"I love you," John said the easy part first, the truth he had never been able to avoid. Then he squeezed Alex's hand and said: "We can do this. I still want to marry you, Alex." And those words only felt slightly like a lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's an actual end number of chapters now?? (whaat) 
> 
> thank you again for all the kudos/ comments/bookmarks they make me ridiculously happy


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex get married. Or, at least, that's how it's supposed to go.

John woke up on the morning of his wedding, looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself.

There was nothing traditional about them but he'd asked for Alex to sleep in a different room the night before - it was for romantic and practical reasons, it meant they wouldn't see each other before they got to the venue. Alex had only looked hurt for a second when he suggested it before nodding.

Somehow, knowing that Alex would do anything for him felt more like a curse than a blessing. Alex was desperately trying to win his way back into John's trust and would do pretty much anything John asked. Even marry him.

Well, John liked to believe he would have done that part anyway.

"Here we go," he told his tired, bushy haired reflection. "Smile, John. It's the happiest day of your life." 

* * *

Alex woke up on the morning of his wedding with a tight knot of regret. Today was about everything he’d ever wanted but he’d ruined the best thing in his life and patched it together in a haphazard way.

John.

The man he loved more than he had ever bargained for loving anyone or anything in this world. And he’d betrayed him.

John’s voice corrected him, _it was only a kiss, you were trying to help, you were stressed, you were_ – insert platitude and excuse here...

Alex grimaced. What sort of reassurance was any excuse when he could see the memory of that one kiss in John’s eyes?

Realistically, he knew that John had forgiven him – although logically he could not process how or why such a brilliant person would deign to forgive such a failing. But he did not expect John to forget, and the man had made it very clear that he had no intention of forgetting it. Alex might not have the best role models for steady marriages but he knew this was the wrong basis for a marriage. When he thinks of marriage he thinks of Martha Washington’s hand casually in the President’s when they sit down next to each other as if it’s second nature. He thinks of comfort and promises and security. He’s not sure he can offer those things to John.

How could he _do this_? How did he get here? Standing here, on the morning of his wedding, with the weight of how much he’d failed and how he’d never be able to fix it if he carried on this way?

Alex straightened his cuffs in the mirror and took a deep breath. He counted down from twenty in French, watching his reflection.

He knew that he had messed up.

He knew that he loved John more than he’d previously known it was possible to love another person.

He was Alexander Hamilton, deputy campaign manager, Treasury Secretary, fiancé, and for the first time ever he knew which of those things was most important.

His reflection grinned along with him as a plan took form in his mind.

* * *

Angelica Schuyler had never been best woman at a wedding before and planned on taking the role very seriously. Even if she was best woman for Alex Hamilton who in her opinion really should be sorting his shit out and not getting married today. This was not a production of Company. She was not going to break out into song.

This was just the Secretary of State helping the Secretary of the Treasury get down the aisle on time a week before the Presidential Election.

“What is our life?” she asked, bursting through the door to find Alex starring at himself intently in the mirror. “You know you look handsome, get away from there and let me see you.”

“As you wish,” Alex backed away from the mirror and, on her gesture, gave a little twirl. “D’you think I’ll do?”

“I think you’re crazy to do this, but John would be crazy to not love you.”

Angelica realized a second too late that her words had probably been a tad too honest. Fortunately for her, Alex was a creature of habit and as in all awkward exchanges, subtly changed the conversation’s direction.

“You’re right, Martha would be crazy not to love you.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Why not?” Alex settled down into a chair, obviously enjoying the conversation’s new turn. “You love her.”

“Today’s about you and John –”

“Today’s about love,” he paused and shrugged after a moment. “Or so I’ve heard. If you love Martha Manning and that adorable little girl, then why don’t you tell the entire world that it’s them you want to be with forever not our friendly neighbourhood beard John Church.”

“ _Alex_ ,” she snapped. “I don’t want to viscerally destroy you on your wedding day as I think that’s probably bad form for the Best Woman but maybe you could make it easier for me. If I could marry Martha -” she caught herself, “no, if I could even tell everyone the truth that I love her – of course I would – but the election is a week away. For as long as we’re in office, that has to come first.”

Instead of talking back, Alex fell silent which was practically one of the signs of the apocalypse. “Alex?”

“D’you ever wonder if things would be easier if we weren’t in politics?”

There was a split second before she started to laugh and Alex joined her instantly. Both their laughs were full-hearted, but frantic, honest, but almost desperate. When they’d finished, the sound bubbling out with an edge of hysteria, she walked over and put her hand on top of Alex’s.

“If getting a good man elected President was easier, don’t you think everyone would do it?”

Alex smiled and agreed and started letting her throw questions at him about the reception. Ten minutes later they were stood at the door and he offered her the crook of his arm to link with her own.  He leaned down and spoke with a quiet determination.

“You’re right – the election is more important that most things. But not everything.” Then he kissed her on the cheek and led her from the room.

* * *

“Are you ready to, how you say, face the music?” Lafayette was lounging like an oversized cat in one of the room’s art décor overly large chairs. Somehow Lafayette’s long legs still hung obscenely over the chair’s arms. “It is only our dear little Hamilton.”

“I’m fine, Laf.”

Lafayette made a noise that sounded like _pfft_. “Fine? Ah, the best basis for a marriage.”

“Laf, let’s not do this now –”

“Is it because he slept with the woman?”

“Maria. And this isn’t her fault. She was in a horrible situation and Alex failed to help in the way he should. And he kissed her.”

“And then slept with her?”

“No they only kissed once. But before you start that doesn’t – that doesn’t change how I’m allowed to feel about it.”

Lafayette pouted and shrugged in one fluid motion that oddly reminded John of Thomas Jefferson. “I was not going to say such a thing. They are your feelings. You choose what you feel.”

"I didn’t _choose_ to feel that way, Laf. Even when I found out I was furious, I can’t explain how betrayed I was but also how disappointed I felt, I—”

“And now?” Lafayette leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“How do you feel when you think about it now?”

“Now? I feel...I mean I...Oh.” John turned around so he was facing the mirror and could see the surprise reflected in his eyes. “I guess—I’m not angry anymore.”

“You would be justified if you were.”

“I know I would,” he said, softly, eyes widening. “But...”

“You are not?”

“I’m not.”

“ _Voila_.”

“It _can’t_ be that simple.”

“We can’t forgive people? I think you will find that is curiously untrue, mon bon ami. Forgiving people is one of the things we are astutely attuned to as a people. And you have plenty of practice forgiving Alex, no?”

“But this is different, it’s not running his mouth off, or coming home late.”

“No. Which makes it a singularly remarkable thing that you are able to forgive him, but I have known for a number of years that you are a singularly remarkable person. So it does not surprise me that you are able to do it.”

“You knew I’d already forgiven him fully?”

Lafayette shrugged. “I know you are capable for unimaginable things. And I know that your Alex loves you more than anything.”

_Almost anything_ , John’s mind added, thinking of the election, politics, _legacy_.

“More than _anything_.” Lafayette repeated, furthering John’s belief that the man could probably read minds.

* * *

There are moments that memory can’t reach: try as he may, John Laurens couldn’t recall exactly how he came to be standing at the front of the room full of their friends and family with Alex beside him, smiling like John had hung the sun.

His ex-wife stood behind him and pushed him closer to his fiancé. John realised there was some heavy handed symbolism in that but decided not to analyse it. Frances was holding her mother’s hand, in a periwinkle blue dress. Angelica Schuyler stood behind his fiancé staring wide eyed and with reckless abandon at Martha Manning as if she’d never seen anything so wonderful. And his siblings were sat between the President and First Lady, and Hercules Mulligan and Eliza Schuyler.

Somehow he was there, standing at the front of the room with Alexander at his side. He took Alex’s hand. It felt alien, like seeing the scenario through water. For a moment, he thought of the turtles in their tanks looking out through a watery haze to see the humans on the other side, watching them like they were on show.

The wedding officiant – oh, the Attorney General, of course it was – was about to talk when Alex started talking instead. There was an overwhelming sense of relief: Alex talking when he wasn’t supposed to was refreshingly normal.

“John,” Alex started before turning to Secretary Mansfield and nodding, “Excuse me, Arabella – Madame Attorney – I just need to ask John something.”

Secretary Mansfield raised her eyebrows, “and of course, now is the perfect time. Go ahead, Alex.”

The congregation laughed; John saw President George Washington smile in the front row.

“John, have you ever heard of Koi No Yokan?”

“Alex,” he said, carefully, “is now really the time for an educational non-sequitur?”

Angelica was visibly shaking trying not to laugh next to Alex whilst Martha behind him was giggling. Frances was looking up at them both with wide eyes, trying to follow what was going on and why the grown-ups were being so weird when they were supposed to just be getting married. John had never related to his daughter more than in that moment.

“It’s an untranslatable Japanese word,” Alex said—his voice had dropped to little above a whisper and as Angelica and Martha leaned in, and Secretary Mansfield took a delicate step back, John realized it was intended for only him to hear. “It’s the feeling when you meet someone for the first time that you’re going to fall in love with them. It’s different to love at first sight, it’s about the potential for the greatest love you’ll ever know coming all at once the first time you see someone’s face.”

Angelica sucked in a shocked breath and stared at the back of Alex’s head. But Alex was starring only at John.

“You know I don’t believe in love at first sight.”

“Of course not,” John smiled. 

“But when I saw you sat there next me, I knew somehow that you were going to change my life.”

It was John’s turn to catch his breath, unable to think of what to say.

Secretary Mansfield stepped forwards and softly said, “There’s a time for vows later.”

“This isn’t a vow,” Alex shook his head. “It’s a fact. From the moment I saw you I knew you were worth more than I could ever deserve.

“Alex…” John stepped forwards, so close that he could lean over and hold Alex’s face. Instead, he took his hands tightly in his own. Alex cleared his throat and spoke loudly:

“Let's not get married.”

The room filled with rustles and whispers everyone turned to the person next to them. John heard his sister’s gasp somewhere close to him but couldn’t look away from Alex’s beaming face.

“I love you more than anything,” Alex said again, “please don’t marry me today.”

“Okay,” John laughed, slightly breathlessly, half-confused, but irrevocably in love.  "Alexander Hamilton, will you marry me?"

"Of course – if you want to – I mean,” Alex was shocked, and blindsided. He waved a hand broadly around him, pointing out the officiant, the guests, the ridiculous flower arrangements. “That's what this whole fanfare's about - "

"No - will you get engaged to me, again, properly this time, with nothing else in our minds but – but us.”

Alex’s face softened and John started to blush inexplicably.

“We can do it all our way.”

“That is…” Alex shook his head and squeezed John’s hands. “That’s the most amazing idea ever. I always said you were the one of the two of us with a way with words.”

Alex knotted their fingers together and held on tight. It would probably be a while before Alex would let him go, and that was just fine with John. He would be quite happy to never let go ever. 

* * *

The guests figured out the wedding wasn’t going ahead. There was a murmur and then movement started but before anyone could get out of their seats, a woman shouted: “Wait!”

Alex was only half surprised to realize it was Angelica and that she was staring straight at Martha Manning. Angelica quickly stepped past him and John and had a quick, whispered conversation with Martha during which the other woman’s eyes widened and filled with tears before she started nodding emphatically.

The Attorney General leaned forwards, “What’s Angelica doing Alex?”

“Wait a sec, Arabella. I think you might have a wedding to perform after all.”

As a friend, Mansfield’s eyes widened and a smile slid onto her surprised face. Then as a lawyer and officiant she pursued her lips. “They’re not registered.”

“This is Virginia,” John said, looking at the women who were now resting their foreheads against each other to surprised gasps and whispers from the congregation. “Virginia is for lovers.”

Alex nodded. “I think it cost us $30. No waiting period. Got to love Virginians.”

John grinned, obviously trying to hold in his laugh before it bubbled over.

Before there was time to ruminate anymore, Angelica stepped away from Martha and turned to the gathered guests.

“Excuse me. I recognize you all came here to see the wedding of John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton today, but, seen as they have decided to take this moment to be restrained and not get married, I hope you will stay to watch me try a hand at being romantically spontaneous. This woman,” and she joined her hand with Martha’s and held it up, whilst Martha never took her eyes off of Angelica, “is Martha Manning. And you are all welcome to stay and witness our wedding. However, if you chose not to stay, it really makes very little difference to either of us.” Angelica turned to Martha and her expression softened in a way almost unseen on the Secretary. “We already have everything we need.”

There was a moment of pause, of silence, before Frances Laurens Manning started to clap and the whole room broke into applause.

* * *

John stood next to Alex six hours later, as Angelica and Martha Schuyler-Manning left the building to eruptions of applause, eating a slice of wedding cake he had picked out.

“The political fallout will be huge, of course,” he said.

“I can’t believe you’re the one talking about political fallout today. Fiancé,” Alex added.

“We’ve been engaged for a while.”

“Yeah, but it feels infinitely better this time.”

John was about to stop himself from thinking about why, for fear of the pain in his chest, but nothing came. Instead he put down the cake. “No lies this time.”

Alex nodded emphatically. “Zero lies. Zilch. Not a one.”

“How many times has Burr beaten you at chess?”

“Never,” Alex answered quickly, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he looked sheepish. “Maybe a few times. Possibly ten.”

John couldn’t shake the grin that’d been nearly constantly on his face all afternoon. His face almost hurt from it – maybe this was what people meant when they spoke of being so happy you could burst, like you physically couldn’t contain how perfectly things were going.

“When did you decide not to marry me today?”

If Alex was surprised by the question he didn’t show it. Instead, he answered casually; “about ten minutes beforehand.”

“Oh, of course,” John said, dryly. “Very understandable.”

Alex suddenly looked very intense – it was his Intense John Face, as Lafayette and Hercules called it, rather than the Intense Politician Face, so John felt a little more relaxed. “I want you to understand why I changed my mind. And don’t use that southern intonation of yours whilst I’m explaining, because this is hard enough without you distracting me.”

“Sorry darling,” John drawled.

Alex leaned in and kissed him, running his hand through John’s hair and holding them together for a moment, or several.

When Alex drew back his eyes were wide and his face slightly red. John realized it was probably a slightly more intense kiss than they should’ve gone for in a room with so many secret service details but luckily most Governmental officials had started in on the champagne a while before.

“I thought these next four years were the most important thing,” Alex said, suddenly, with chapped lips and wild hair. “I thought they were more important than anything – but they’re not more important than you. Not even for the next week until the election... Not even then. I love you more than I ever bargained on loving anything. More than life. More than the election.”

“In that order?”

John snickered but Alex looked at him, with fire in his eyes, and certainty in his voice and said emphatically: “ _Yes_. I can never make up for what I did wrong but I’ll spend every day forever trying to.”

“No, I forgive you,” John said, realizing he too had probably started in on the champagne too early for how intensely this conversation was going. “I love you more than – more than turtles.”

Alex’s smile was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. Had he ever told the other man that?

“I never want you to have reason to doubt me – or us – again,” Alex said. “And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that you have no reason to doubt it. _Je t'aimerai toujours quoi qu'il arrive._ ”

John let the words filter into his mind and sighed as they wrapped around him, holding his heart. He kissed Alex, quickly and softly then pulled back. “You know I speak French, right?”

Alex grinned and took his hand. “I was counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that took a while. Only the epilogue to go. The epilogue is election day/night.
> 
> (Also Arabella Mansfield was not AG for Washington or even around in the same decade but she was the first female lawyer in the US, so she's the Attorney General of my heart)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue: from election to inauguration

 

INAUGURATION DAY

 

It was 11am on 20th January, and Alex really should have been getting ready for the inauguration – his role was, by definition, defunct at this point in time. Somehow he found himself on the way to the White House, more in his previous role of Deputy Campaign Manager than as Treasury Secretary.

“Can I see him for a few minutes?” he smiled overly brightly at one of Washington’s secretaries.

“He’s free right now. You can go straight through,” she said, recognising him and returning a weaker version of the smile. Her bottom lip trembled. He wondered how many people were holding it together minute by minute right now. Only one hour to go.

For the first time in four years, Alex felt scuppered as he stood in front of the door to the Oval Office – he needed to brace himself before walking in.

“This is not what I envisioned happening today.” Washington was writing a letter at his desk and spoke without looking up. “I had a feeling you would show up though.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Alex said.

The words were useless but felt undeniably necessary. Washington was already shaking his head though. He finished his letter and put his pen down carefully.

“Everything happens for a reason, Alex. We are not supposed to understand everything that happens.”

“Well, I find that quite annoying, sir, and personally strive to understand everything that happens anyway.”

“I’m sure you do,” he smiled.

“It just –” Alex halted: he was sure this was one of the moments he was supposed to shut up, but equally this was a day of lasts and there were only so many opportunities remaining for him to speak his mind about this. “We ruined it for you?”

Washington frowned – an odd look, and one Alex wasn’t sure he’d seen on the stately man before. “We?”

“Angelica and I.”

Now, Washington’s face changed from confusion to anger to determination – the emotions passing over and consuming his expression in waves. “No, Alex. Don’t ever think that. It’s simply not true.”

“But, sir –”

“A wise man once said that there were more important things than the election.”

Alex stepped back, visibly shocked to hear his own words – _private words, thanks Ange –_ echoed back at him.

“Alex, last weekend, Martha and I had the Secretary of State and her wife round for dinner. Their daughter is the most wonderful child I’ve ever seen. My wife wants to adopt her as much as Angelica does.”

Alex tried unsuccessfully to fight down a smile.

“Some things are more important,” Washington repeated.

“Excuse me, sir,” the same assistant from before was standing at the door, her hands clasped tightly around a folder. Her hands weren’t shaking, even if her voice was, which was more than could said for Alex. “The President elect and Miss Jefferson have just arrived. The First Lady is ready to accompany you to greet them.”

Washington thanked her and she scuttled out quickly once she realised he wasn’t making any signs of moving.

Alex nodded, approving of this strategy. “Keep them waiting, sir.”

“They’re already late. I came to wait in here so it wasn’t so obvious. I can hardly remember the last time someone was late to see me. I think it was four years to the day exactly.”

“No, sir. Remember, I was ten minutes late to the first cabinet meeting after midterms. You threatened to replace me with one of the undersecretaries. John made me come all the way over here and apologise. I mean, made me come to the White House, sir.” Alex noticed he was playing with his ring, twisting it round his finger, whilst he spoke.

President Washington smiled at him. “I think it’s time you started getting ready to call me, George.”

“Never, sir.”

“What if I ask you to?”

“I think I’d have to respectfully decline. Sir.” Alex’s lips twitched and he thought the President might be holding back an eye roll.

Washington looked at the clock and sighed. He folded the letter he’d been writing and left it unsealed on the now bare desk. He stood up, slowly, and formally, like a formal act of resignation.

“We lost,” he said, his voice a little above a whisper.

“We didn’t win, sir.”

He saw Washington smile but it was nothing like before – it was not pitying, or reassuring, it was accepting.

Alex Hamilton was reminded of why he admired the man in front of him so much as President George Washington stepped out from the behind the desk and said simply, “No, Alex, we lost.”

 

 

* * *

TEN WEEKS EARLIER – ELECTION DAY

 

It was 10:30am EST on Election Day, and Alex was fine. He really was fine. It didn't matter what other people - especially Angelica or Washington - said. He was fine.

Sure, voter turnout was down in Wisconsin when they’d been assured the 18-25 vote was going to come out in full force in that state. That was  _fine_.

They were already ahead in North Carolina – that didn’t usually happen (but then again: Democrats voted early). Also, Florida looked too good to be true (and maybe it was: the results were clearly skewed away from white men, and towards women at this time of day in Tallahassee). It didn't mean they should get their hopes up about Florida. And that, too, was fine.

John was standing next to him expectantly, holding a stack of papers in his hand. He had obviously just asked something.

"I'm fine," Alex told him. “No need to worry. It’s all fine.”

"That's nice to know,” John raised an eyebrow. “But I asked if you'd seen the new state by states."

"They're out?" Alex's voice was possibly closer to a shout than a normal volume but it was nothing anyone in the room - the war room they'd set up in the Washington's suite in the hotel in Virginia - hadn't heard before. "Where are they? Bring them here!"

John waved the papers in his face, still smiling, but less indulgently now. “Listen.”

Alex grabbed them and started leafing through. A minute in he remembered to add: "shit, I mean – thank you."

"Yeah, I thought so. And I know I didn't ask before, but are you okay?"

Alex didn’t even bother lowering the papers as he looked at the break down for Raleigh. “Yeah,” he turned a page, “I’m fine.”

 

 

 

* * *

The rest of the campaign team kicked him out of the war room around 5pm, citing their own headaches as a reason for his banishment.

Alex was barely three steps out of the room when John appeared next to him again.

“Hi,” John said, proffering a cup of coffee that wasn’t from a Starbucks, and a muffin that looked like it had actually been baked in the past twenty-four hours, rather than squashed in his bag for an hour.

“Shit, this is delicious,” he practically inhaled the coffee, pausing to turn and absently kiss the side of John’s mouth. “You’re the best fiancé ever.”

“Who knew, all it takes to wear down the great Alexander Hamilton was a $2 muffin and a hotel café coffee.”

“This is the food of angels. I haven’t eaten anything this good in weeks.”

Both John’s eyebrows raised now. “Well now I’m just worried. And a little offended. The campaign team said you’d been eating.”

“Yeah,” he nodded around the muffin. “They’re terrified of me, will say whatever I want them to.”

“You menace.”

“I’m a competent menace though, which I think you should give credit for.”

 

* * *

By 9pm, Alex wished he hadn’t enforced the no drinking rule.

Angelica called and he quickly rejected the call.

Hercules called about ten minutes after that and he rejected it and put the phone on silent.

John was sat next to him, holding his hand in the nearly silent room. The TV streaming the results as they got ready to call Texas for Jefferson was the only sound in the room.

“We were never hoping to win Texas,” Nathanial Greene said. Alex noticed, absently, that Greene was already drinking. He didn’t have the heart to tell him not to.

“We’d like to interrupt to announce that we think – yes, yes, we would like to confirm that we now have confirmation to call Ohio for Speaker Jefferson.”

“We were expecting to win, Ohio,” someone said – their voice a whisper but still carrying in the unnatural quiet of the room.

“Shut up,” Greene snapped.

John squeezed Alex’s hand a little harder.

His phone lit up again but didn’t ring out time. It was Eliza. Reluctantly, he picked up.

“Betsey, I really can’t talk right now.”

“Good job it’s me then isn’t it?” Hercules Mulligan’s voice rang down the phone. “And you don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

“Give your wife back her phone, Mulligan,” Alex said, trying and failing to keep any bite out of his voice.

“No can do, the phone was forced on me by all three Schuyler sisters. That’s not the sort of force I want to challenge. Frances is here. Tell John she says hi. To both of you.”

Alex covered the phone for a moment and turned to John.

“Herc is surrounded by all the sisters and your daughter. There’s a chance we’re not the ones in the worst situation right now.”

John laughed, quietly. “Send them all my love. And tell Francis not to wait up. I think this might be close.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Greene hissed. There was no point reprimanding him for listening in, the room would listen to a pin drop right now. “We don’t know what comes next.”

On cue the TV flashed up with new results.

Alex swore next to John and Greene downed his drink before jumping up to run and tell the President.

 

“Did you see that Herc?” Alex asked breathlessly – “are you watching this?”

“Yeah, Hammie, can’t you hear Peggy and Martha singing?”

Alex laughed – the first time he had all day – and quickly hung up, hoping Hercules would forgive him. He turned to John and put his hands on either side of the other man’s face before leaning in and kissing him softly, calmly. “Thank you for everything,” he said quietly. The rest of the room had erupted into action once again with a fresh burst of something, if not optimism, then at least an extinguishment of defeat. “Thank you for being with me for this,” Alex said.

“We won _Virginia_ ,” John said, in awe.

“Beat Jefferson in his own state.”

“That’s  _glorious._ ”

“It might be the last glorious thing all night,” Alex warned.

John was silent for a moment before leaning back, taking Alex’s hand in own and shrugging very deliberately. He didn’t say anything, but Alex get the message. John couldn’t promise him the election. He couldn’t dictate how millions of people voted. Despite the manipulation of the top thirteen mass media markets of America, twenty-three states covered in the final five days, and millions of dollars of fundraising, neither of them could do anything to change the result now. The election was out of their hands.

But – and here, John squeezed Alex’s hand, reassuring him – they could choice how they reacted to it. They could choose what they did next.

Two hours later, North Carolina, Florida, Utah, Iowa, and Georgia called for Jefferson in quick succession and John squeezed his hand a little tighter. There was nothing left to do. There was nothing left to say.

At 2:40am, President George Washington called Jefferson to concede the election. Twenty minutes later, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania were called for Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson passed the 270 electoral mark and officially became the President-Elect of the United States of America.

Alex didn’t remember how it happened, but suddenly Martha Washington was hugging him and talking nonsense in his ear, telling him it would be OK. Greene excused himself to go and throw up in the bathroom but it was split whether that was due to the alcohol or the electoral defeat.

In the centre of the room – on the phone to Jefferson – dictating to the speech writers a formal and polite rewording of a line in his concession speech – in the centre of his campaign, and standing at the end of his one term Presidency was Washington, head held high and a small, resigned smile on his wrinkled face.

Alex wondered if he’d ever noticed how tired Washington looked before.

It was another hour at least before John’s hand found his once more and tugged him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go, there’s nothing else we can do tonight.” John said, a sensible fact, and a promise that tomorrow – _tomorrow and tomorrow_ – there would be action. There would be a fight back.

 

* * *

“Well now that’s done and I’m glad it’s over,” Alex groaned into his pillow, flopping down into his bed at around 5am on the first day when Thomas Jefferson could call himself President-Elect. Alex had very little intention of getting out of bed anytime in the next four years.

“You’re so pretentious,” John said, brushing back Alex’s hair and kissing his forehead. “And so exhausted. We’ll fight tomorrow. For now, we sleep.”

Alex groaned.

“What?” John asked. The bed jostled a little as John flopped down next to Alex, getting under the covers. “Did you just remember the Republicans won the house and the Senate?”

“No, but thanks for that honey.” Alex snapped – any ferocity which the words could have contained was bitten off by his tremendous yawn and the fact that he was already curling around John and nestling his head in the crook of John’s neck. “Aaron Burr now has the second most important job in the country.”

“Really? I thought he was Vice President.”

“John,” Alex said, pointedly, but he felt the vibrations as John laughed at his own joke. “This is no laughing –” he yawned again, fighting it back down, “– matter.”

“I’m fairly sure we’re gonna win the public vote still, just not the electoral one.”

“Sadly, the President is decided on the electoral one,” Alex groaned, burying his head momentarily between the soft skin of John’s neck and the pillow.

“I’m trying to find the bright side,” John whispered in his ear, ticking him with his breath.

“Let me know when you find it,” Alex said, shaping the words around one final yawn before he slipped into an exhaustion and disappointment fuelled oblivion.

 

* * *

FIVE WEEKS BEFORE INAUGURATION

 

 

Two weeks before Christmas, President Washington’s Press Secretary finished fielding questions after her usual briefing then paused a moment.

“I’d like to also mention,” she said, smiling widely, “that President Washington expresses his congratulations to the Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton on his marriage to Mr John Laurens in a private ceremony in their New York residence. The wedding was attended by the Secretary of State, Angelica Schuyler, her wife and sisters and their partners. The President and the First Lady offered the White House as a venue, but Secretary Hamilton vetoed the idea, citing his well-known lack of ostentation and love of privacy.”

The press laughed and the Press Secretary beamed.

“The entire Washington Administration, and I personally, would like to wish Secretary Hamilton and Mr Laurens all the love and happiness possible in their lives together and would like them to know that they will always be considered part of our family here in this White House. Thank you everyone, that’s a full lid for today. Any questions can be fielded by Secretary Hamilton and Mr Laurens once they return from their honeymoon next Monday,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m sure there’s nothing either of them would like more than to come back to voicemails full of press requests.”

 

* * *

INAUGURATION DAY

 

Alex arrived from the White House to find everyone already settled around the large TV, squished onto the various seats. John waved over the back of the coach and budged up to make space for him. Alex flopped into the seat, leaned into John and dared to look at the TV where the events of the inauguration were already getting underway.

The Washingtons looked professional and Presidential as they greeted the Jeffersons on the steps of the White House. Alex sank a little further into the couch. Lafayette threw some of his popcorn at the TV when he saw Burr and Hercules booed.

“D’you mind if I change the channel?” John asked, overly casually. “There’s a rerun of SNL that’ll be a thousand times better than this.”

“ _Please_.” Angelica said, loudly, causing Martha to laugh and Francis to smile as she scooted up on the couch, sat between Angelica and John. “I think I missed last week’s you know.”

“That just won’t do,” Martha laughed. Being closest to the remote, she changed the channel.

There was a collective moment of shock as the solemn images of Pennsylvania Avenue disappeared from in front of them to be replaced with tinny laughter.

Eliza came back in from the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows at the changed channel but settled back down next to Hercules on the armchair, unworried. “I loved this one,” she said, pointing to the TV set. “It’s hilarious.”

“I think we could do with a good laugh,” John agreed.

There was another moment of silence as their eyes all turned to the TV. Right now, across the city from them, the smooth transition of power was taking place just as the Founders planned. Power passing from one hand to another on the basis of an electoral vote. (Not the public vote, Alex thought, bitterly.)

The silence continued as the show passed from one sketch to another. Somewhere in the Schuyler-Mulligans’ house a clock chimed twelve o’clock and Alex and Angelica both sighed heavily.

They might not be watching, but still it felt as if something palpable had changed. A new era.

The Jefferson Administration.

“What do we do next?” Alex asked

“Next?” Angelica asked, her voice slightly hysterical.

John turned to him and smiled. Pointedly, John looked around him slowly, then back to Alex and raised an eyebrow.

And Alex realised instantly that John was right.

They were sat surrounded by friends and family, living this moment side-by-side and ready to live the next moment together. Alex had more here than he ever could have bargained for on the last inauguration day.

Now, Alex was staring at his husband, the man he loved more than anything else in the world, the man who would walk into fire with Alex – or, who Alex would run into fire behind.

Perhaps, Alex reasoned, perhaps this wasn’t the end of the world after all.

“Now,” John said, taking Alex’s hand in one of his, and Francis’s in his other, “now we fight back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the first chapter of this almost a year ago exactly on George Washington's birthday because that seemed fitting. The ending that's here was always the planned one but became harder to write after it edged too close to reality back in November which put me off writing. After that, I tweaked the numbers in this a little, and let it reflect real life a tad more in places. (There's a moment or two where if you wonder if you've seen this before, then maybe it happened in 2016, maybe it happened in history, or maybe it happened on the West Wing).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks across this story and In the Place to Be, it's been amazing and I am so overly excited every time I get a notification!
> 
> I can't believe this story alone got to over 50k. The working title for this and iTPtB was always Koi No Yokan which is why that got a shout out last chapter. Thank you to lordofthedreadfort who proofreads all of this because they're the best. Coming back after a few months to add this epilogue has been lovely but also odd and I hope you enjoy it, even if it wasn't what you wanted. 
> 
> THANK YOU

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [abit-notgood](http://abit-notgood.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to chat/rant ever


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